


On The Habits of the Phoenix

by IrishWitch58



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst with a Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-16 10:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 29,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19647580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IrishWitch58/pseuds/IrishWitch58
Summary: A Victorian alternate universe in which Q is running from his past and encounters ex Naval Commander Bond. He finds work and happiness at Skyfall until his past comes looking for him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I tagged this as rape/non-con for what Q has experienced. The description is non graphic. There are points in this monster where I was crying over the level of angst I was dropping on my characters.

The house was quiet, the windows open to catch the mid September breezes and bringing occasional bird song and the smell of turned earth from the gardens. Afternoon sunlight slanted across the carpets and left the shadows in odd corners looking darker. Q tugged at the frayed cuffs of his best, indeed his only suit, and knocked at the library door. A whispery voice inside acknowledged him and he entered. Professor Prescott was as elderly as his voice suggested, a scholar of mathematics and physics. He had been Q's employer for five months. The old man smiled and beckoned him to the seat in front of the huge antique table the professor used as a desk. “Sit down, Roy. What keeps you here today? I thought it was your half day off.”

Q seated himself. He wasn't fond of his given name and even less of the rest of the ones he had been left with but the old man had never liked the idea of his chosen single initial as a name and insisted on Roy as more suitable. It seemed best to just get right to the bad news. “I'm afraid I must tender my resignation, Professor. A sudden personal emergency.” He hoped the lie sounded plausible. He had seen the men asking about him in the village. It wouldn't take long for them to get word back to London and then the letters would arrive on Prescott's doorstep. People in the village would begin whispering.

The old man leaned forward, concern evident on his seamed face. “Is there anything I can do to help? I certainly would hate to lose such an invaluable assistant.”

“I'm afraid not.” He swallowed hard and took a deep breath. “I am ashamed to say I have been concealing some things, Professor. I think it's only fair to tell you that you will, undoubtedly, receive some information about my past. It will make me appear a criminal. The person making these accusations is highly placed and has been following me for two years with accusations I cannot disprove.”

Prescott studied him carefully and shook his balding head slowly. “I have known you as a trusted employee for five months, my boy. I cannot bring myself to believe ill of you.”

“Thank you for that,” Q answered. “But I feel unable to remain. Others will not be as generous and I would not want any of this to make your life difficult.” 

“But what will you do? Of course I will give you an excellent reference but you must have someplace to present it.” The old man tapped his fingers against the blotter. “Wait just a moment.” He began to thumb through some personal correspondence and pulled out a letter with a complex network of postmarks on it. He scanned it and waved it overhead triumphantly. “I have it! My old friend Mr. Tanner. He wrote me a few weeks ago that his employer is in need of someone to assist in building some bit of maritime equipment. He has tried out several young men for the post but none suited. Let me send and see if the post might still be available.”

Q sighed. “That will take a bit of time, sir. I intend to leave as soon as possible.”

“I will send Beecham to the village on his bike to telegraph with a request for an urgent answer. Hopefully we will have a response by the morning. I would feel so much better if I knew you had an offer of employment. Please do stay that long.” Prescott was so determined and Q had grown to love the old man with his odd flashes of genius and childish sense of wonder at an experiment that worked. 

“All right. I will need tonight to pack and check the rail schedules.” Q reflected that would not take all that long. His belongings had never been all that much but when he fled London, he had only the clothes on his back. Even now, over two years later, he never allowed himself more than he could carry in his aged carpetbag.

“Excellent!” Prescott summoned Beecham and began to draft a letter for Q to take as a reference. Q took himself off to his bedroom to gather his things.


	2. Chapter 2

Q watched from his bedroom window as Beecham, the gardener, rolled down the drive and pedaled off down the road to the village. He breathed in the quiet and the peace of the green landscape around the small house, the drone of sleepy bees in the garden and the rustling of swallows in the eaves. He would miss this place. He had almost felt normal here, the best his life had been since London. 

He turned from the window and pulled his ancient second hand carpet bag from the wardrobe. He looked at the small number of books on his nightstand and decided they wouldn't take up much space and tucked them in first. They had been gifts from Professor Prescott and he valued them for that. He folded his clothes neatly and left out a clean set of collar and cuffs for the morning. He found himself staring at the meager contents of the bag and wondering where the optimistic young man he had been two and a half years ago had gone.

Back then he had been a promising student of physics at University College and had been eager to study with the illustrious Foster. He delighted in the practical applications as well as the theory, designing mechanical devices that used the principles he learned. He and his friends were quieter than the average, more inclined to frequent coffee shops than pubs when they had free time. His friends occasionally teased him because he seemed uninterested in courting young women, especially since women were actually admitted to their school and, therefore, easier to meet. He allowed them to think he was either too caught up in his studies or just too shy. 

Then came the night of Henry's birthday celebration. The small group of friends had altered their usual pattern and gone out to a pub, making very merry and toasting Henry frequently. After several rounds, Q had spotted a familiar face, one he hadn't expected to see. The young man was the nephew of the boot maker who lived a few streets over from the house Q's parents kept. Davey was tall and muscular and had an easy grin and bright carroty hair. And he and Q shared a preference that would have them jailed if anyone suspected. They both favored their pleasures with other young men. Davey had winked at him and Q felt a sudden need to revisit the delights he and Davey had explored before he had to focus on his schooling. He excused himself, his friends likely thinking he was merely going to the privy. He exited the rear door and found himself tugged into an alley next to the pub. Davey was as skilled and energetic as ever and he and Q were soon panting and tugging at each others' pricks. They finished quickly and helped each other to set their clothes right and giggled a bit at their mutual eagerness. They exited the alley separately, neither seeing that they had been watched. At the end of the evening, Q and his friends helped each other back to their rooms. He never expected that to be the last time he would ever feel free and happy.

Two days later, as he exited the library, a case full of books and papers under one arm, he was hailed by a driver on top of a very fine but very anonymous carriage across the road. The coachman stepped down and opened the door and gestured him inside. He was puzzled but thought it might be something to do with his studies so he climbed in. The coach began to move and he sat down, eying the gentleman in the opposite seat who was smiling in a distinctly unpleasant way. He was stocky and had a doughy face and uneven stained teeth but he was dressed in obviously fine clothes and spoke in very cultured tones as he addressed Q. “I am Thomas Cuthbridge. I will be your new... protector,” he pronounced after a considering pause.

Q was completely confused. “I don't understand. I don't need a protector and I don't know you.” Feeling an increasing anxiety at the way the man looked at him, Q grasped the door latch. “Please stop. I would like to get down.”

“You will do as you are told,” Cuthbridge suddenly snarled, reaching out and twisting Q's wrist cruelly. “I saw you and that ginger lad at the pub. I know what you are. We are going to become very well acquainted as I very much want what you will give me.”

“I won't give you anything!” Q's voice was practically a scream but with traffic outside, it was likely no one could hear. He attempted to wrest his arm away but found a metal shackle had been fastened to it. He jerked at it while Cuthbridge sneered at him. 

Cuthbridge sat back and looked him over. “You will do as you are told, for as long as I wish you to. If you do not, I will go to the police and charge you with gross indecency. And before you protest, the young lad you were with has been paid a very nice sum to vouch for the fact that you approached him and forced his compliance.”

Q was sweating and his wrist ached and his heart was pounding in absolute terror. “That's absurd! No one will believe that.”

Cuthbridge shrugged. “Your word against his, maybe not. But I have the ear of the right people. They will listen to to me.”

The carriage had stopped and when the door opened, they were in an enclosed courtyard with no overlooking windows. The coachman and a huge man in black livery unhooked the manacle from the coach and dragged him, stunned and shaking, in through a heavy door and up an echoing staircase. His life, from that moment, was a nightmare of fear and pain. 

Cuthbridge was the sort of man who, far from caring about his bedmate's comfort, enjoyed making them suffer. Q had been kept locked up in an attic bedroom. His captor visited him every evening, fucking him mouth or arse as he pleased, laughing when he saw tears and terror on his captive's face. He had tried fighting the man off at first but he had only called his big servant in to hold him down. When Cuthbridge came in after drinking heavily it was often worse because, when he drank, Cuthbridge was generally incapable and he blamed it on Q and would beat him with whatever was handiest, usually a belt. Q wore scars over his back, buttocks and thighs that had faded somewhat but would likely be there the rest of his life.

Q had been sure he was going to die there if it continued. He had clandestinely scratched marks in the underside of the bed frame with his spoon when food was brought to him, a mark for every day. He had been a prisoner for three months. He had learned why Cuthbridge was so sure of his own privilege. He was married to the daughter of a minor nobleman, a woman who had no apparent interest in her husband keeping a separate establishment in town. They had one child and they were only seen at public functions occasionally. He learned all this through listening when the servants spoke in their own quarters which were below the attics. 

On one particular Thursday, the servants had all departed. He had been brought a meal and then left alone. From various bits he had overheard, Cuthbridge was with his wife and his father-in-law at some required function. Q was startled out of a fitful doze when a racket sounded below, slamming doors and Cuthbridges's enraged drunken voice calling for his staff. The irregular steps mounted the stairs. Cuthbridge fumbled with the key and lock, finally swinging the door wide and advancing into the room. Q clutched the thin blanket which was all the covering he had in the bare room and backed away. Closing the door, Cuthbridge advanced, reeking of drink and holding a heavy cane in one hand. He brought the cane up and Q felt a sudden peace. He wouldn't die without another attempt to fight back. He shoved as hard as he could, managing to tangle the blanket around the cane and watched as Cuthbridge fell backwards, striking his head on the corner of the bed frame and sliding to the floor with a groan. He didn't move. Q listened as the man breathed hoarsely then shook himself. He had a chance and he had to take it. He rummaged for the key and found it in Cuthbridge's pocket. He gagged him with his own handkerchief and ripped the thin blanket into strips to tie his hands and feet. His hands shook as he opened the door, relocked it and broke the key off in the lock. He hurried down the stairs and found the servants' quarters. He rummaged for a bit in a few rooms before finding anonymous older clothes that fit him at least marginally and a pair of boots that had only a few sprung seams. He left everything as neat as he could and slunk down the back passage, easing open the door and peering out. Seeing no one, he hurried away. It took him several turnings before he could orient himself.

He was almost back to his old rooms when he halted at the sight of a policemen on his rounds. He ducked into a dark doorway and held his breath. He couldn't go to any of his friends. They would ask too many questions. Cuthbridge would make good on his threats. Q's parents and friends were the first people he would approach before going to the police. He had a bit of time before the man was discovered. He was not expected to be home and the servants were only due to return mid morning. He had to find some way to get out of London quickly. Q had never been religious. His family were staunchly C of E so no one would expect him to go to the little Italian Catholic priest who ran an infirmary for the poor just north of the market near Q's childhood home. Father Guillermo was wizened and cheerful and kept hens and goats to help feed the poor he served. Q had admired the way the man's faith was expressed practically and he had donated to the man's cause as much as he could afford. 

He knocked furtively at the rectory door and the old man opened it, blinking in the light of the small candle he carried. The priest looked up and down the street and ushered him inside, sitting him down and pouring him some soup out of the kettle he always seemed to have warming. “You're in trouble, my boy. How can I help?” 

Q almost cried in gratitude. He clutched the mug of soup and warmed his hands and took a deep breath. “Father, I am in a great deal of trouble. Someone will be after me and I need to leave London. Can I beg a change of clothes and perhaps stay the day out of sight?”

The shrewd eyes looked at him and the old man nodded decisively. “You were always a good boy. I am sure it will all come right in the end. I can do a bit more, I think. You stay here until tomorrow night. I know a way to get you out of the city.”

True to his word, Father Guillermo came into the rectory on Saturday evening with an aged carpet bag in one hand and a bundle of clothes over his arm. “Donations for the poor,” he said. When Q had changed into the new clothes, worn but clean and well patched, he pulled on a cap and followed the priest out to the yard where a cart was waiting. “I am sending some of my sick ones to the country to recover. I do this occasionally. Just sit quietly in the cart. Give the brother in charge at the farm this note and journey safely my boy.” He drew Q into an embrace and patted his cheeks, waving as the cart pulled away.

The lay brothers ran a farm. The one in charge put him to work on the property. Q had never worked on a farm but he found himself able to help with the machinery. The neighboring property owners discovered his skill and began to pay him for repairs. He hoarded every bit he could over the winter, with the exception of purchasing spectacles from a traveling merchant to replace the ones taken from him along with so much else. He eventually found an advertisement seeking a young man who could do accounting work and understood machinery. The brothers gave him a reference and he purchased a second hand suit and found himself employed by Mr. Harrison who bought and repaired farm and other equipment. He was called in to the office one bright morning and walked out broken and defeated. A letter had arrived from London advising Mr. Harrison of the nature of his new employee. He was turned out. This had happened twice more. On the last occasion he had been sitting disconsolate on the stone wall around a graveyard of a pretty country church in Lancashire. He had no money left and was tired and hungry. This was as far as his last money had taken him by train. The old man coming out of the lych gate had stopped to look over his shoulder where he was idly sketching in his dogeared notebook. The drawing was a rendering of something he had worked on in one of his classes, a lifetime ago. The man poked a finger at the drawing and began asking questions. In the end, he invited Q home and offered him a position, based purely on the mathematical gifts he displayed. Professor Prescott had been visiting his deceased wife's grave that day and swore jokingly that she must have sent him his new assistant. 

Five months had been a pleasant respite but it seemed Q was not destined to remain. He wondered if he could ever go far enough to escape Cuthbridge's venom. He straightened himself as best he could and descended the stairs to take supper in the study with the Professor as he usually did, determined to put a cheerful face on for the old man who had been so kind to him.


	3. Chapter 3

Breakfast the next morning was a very filling meal, Professor Prescott insisting that Q bolster himself for the journey , wherever he was going. Halfway through the meal there was a clatter at the door. A few moments later, Dukes returned from answering it with a telegram in hand. 

“Oh wonderful news, my boy! Mr. Tanner reports the position is still available and urgently needs to be filled. Dukes, have Beecham hitch up the cart to take my young friend here to the station in Liverpool. If Beecham hurries, you can make the next train to Glasgow. Mind you it's not like the Flying Scotsman but it will get you there in good enough time. Mr. Tanner advises you should check in with the clerk at the post office at the station for additional direction. I'll just give you this telegram to take as well as your letter.”

The cart was waiting outside when Q had gathered his overcoat and bag. Dukes handed him a basket from the kitchen. The goodbyes were heartfelt but shortened by necessity as it would not do to miss the train. Q felt a pang that he might not see Professor Prescott again but swore he would try to write. 

The station was chaotic and Q barely had time to obtain his ticket and find the platform. The benches in third class were hard and cold but he had not been able to purchase a more expensive ticket. He kept his belongings close and tried to rest. The motion of the carriage was too distracting. He retrieved one of his books. Most of them were scientific texts but Professor Prescott had been appalled to learn that Q had never read a novel. He had insisted that such purely trivial entertainments were essential and had gifted him one as he was leaving. Q opened the cover of The Moonstone and began to read. He had advanced perhaps ten pages when he encountered a five pound note tucked firmly into the pages. He knew it was not his. He had spent nearly all he had on repairs to his boots last week and now his train fare. He glanced around to be sure no one was watching and quickly folded the note and tucked it into the side of his right boot, inside the sock. Footpads might steal his bag or coat but it was unlikely they would want his much patched boots. Professor Prescott had, undoubtedly, wished him to have something in reserve but understood the money would never have been accepted outright. Q made himself a promise to return it as soon as he was able.

He read for awhile, his fellow passengers absorbed in their own lives and not interested in the studious young man with spectacles perched on his nose. It was reassuring in a way. They were, by the signs, already in Scotland when he opened the basket. Prescott's cook, Maybelle, was a woman who believed in generosity in all things but chiefly in food. The sandwich he unwrapped was packed with roast beef and sharp cheese and there was a bottle of cordial to go with it. Hunger satisfied, he slipped the carpet bag handles over his arm and dozed, the basket under his other elbow. 

The arrival in Glasgow was as confusing and noisy as the departure had been. He found the post office after a search of half an hour. The clerk had to hunt a bit and eventually produced an envelope with his name on it. He retreated to a bench and read the enclosed note. It informed him that a room had been procured for him at a small inn near the station, an old coaching stop. He was to stay there and a carriage would be sent for him on Wednesday, the following day. He returned to the post office and received directions to the inn and found it after a short walk. The innkeeper was cheerful and welcoming and showed Q up to a small clean room over the tap room and left him with the promise of sending a girl up with hot water for washing.

Q didn't feel comfortable going down to the tap room to eat, not knowing who might be there. He washed when the water was brought up and ate the other sandwich from his basket. He sipped the last of the bottled cordial and looked out the window as the daylight waned. The traffic seemed barely to diminish on the road outside the yard. He had once been used to the pace of life in London but years of living in out of the way places seemed to have left him oversensitive to the level of activity. He consoled himself with the thought that he was less likely to be noticed in a city with frequent travelers. He closed the window and drew the curtains, hanging his clothing up carefully and donning his nightshirt. He checked the door and the lock before lying down in the bed. The bedding was clean and scented with lavender and he eventually slept.


	4. Chapter 4

Q was surprised to see early daylight sneaking in around the curtains. He peeked out at the yard, already busy with travelers and tradesmen. He shaved and dressed quickly. Last night's water was cold but he was used to making do. The basket was empty so he invested a few coins in a cup of strong tea and a scone from the tap room and then went in search of a bank. The note would be more useful if he exchanged it for smaller amounts. He advanced with some trepidation to the teller's desk, armed with a story about a gift from his godfather for his birthday, but the young man at the desk just accepted the note and returned the smaller denominations. Returning to the inn, Q spent some time secreting the coins in various places on his person. 

Q was sitting on the bench in the inn yard when a fine coach entered from the road, a stag crest on the side picked out in silver gilt. The man on the high seat was dressed in a plain suit, well fitted to his large frame. He stepped down from the box to tend to the horses while another man emerged from within. His attire was also a sober suit such as you might see a prosperous business man wear. He removed his hat to reveal a receding hairline, brushed his hand through the strands and replaced the hat. “I'll be a few minutes here, Tyler.”

“Aye, Mr. Tanner,” replied the coachman.

Q's attention focused on the man. He removed his hat and approached a few steps. “I'm sorry, sir. Did I understand your name to be Tanner?”

The man paused on his way to the inn door. He regarded Q with a carefully scrutinizing look. “I'm William Tanner, yes. Are you the person I'm meant to meet?”

Q straightened and extended his hand. “I'm Roy Quentin Shepherd. Professor Prescott referred me for employment.”

Tanner shook the proffered hand and gave a pleasant smile. “Good to meet you, Mr. Shepherd. I'm sorry I wasn't able to be here to meet you when you arrived. The inn was comfortable enough I trust?”

“Very much so, thank you.” Q felt a bit of his usual anxiety melt away, feeling welcomed and accepted. “Are we leaving at once? I understand your employer resides some distance away.”

“Your employer now too,” Tanner responded quite definitely. “The commander has had enough opportunities. This time I have told him I am hiring his assistant and he has to live with it. The comings and goings are too upsetting to the routine. I have a bit of business to transact. You can wait here or come along with me. Your bags will be safe enough with Tyler and the coach.”

Q gestured with the carpet bag. “This is all I have,” he said with quiet resignation, sure he was about to be mocked.

Tanner only squinted at him, straightened his shoulders and said, “Well that's one more stop then. The Commander insists his staff be well attired. He'd probably put them all in naval uniforms if he thought he could get away with it.”

Tyler seemed to have overheard this. “Moneypenny would poison his dinner, pirate that she is.” He grinned broadly.

Tanner tutted at him. “Poison? Not bloody likely, Tyler. She's more likely to stick a knife in him, since shooting didn't take. Come along Mr. Shepherd. Things to do.” Q stared for a moment, then followed along, completely puzzled at what sort of a household he was entering where the staff joked about piracy and murdering their employer.

The first stop was a bank where Tanner made several transactions, one or two small ones and another quite large one. The second was to a carpenter where he placed an order for some precise pieces of lumber and requested they be delivered as soon as available. A stop at a jeweler was to retrieve a repaired watch. He eventually halted at a haberdashery which offered garments ready made. Tanner ushered Q inside and began examining the available selection. He picked out an everyday suit in a serviceable serge and a more formal one in wool. He added three shirts, new collars and cuffs and undergarments and, finally, a pair of new boots. Q opened his mouth to protest the amount but Tanner held up a finger. “The expense is covered by your employment, like livery in some houses. Trust me, you will earn it.” After Q had tried on the suits and the boots, and had a few adjustments made for the slenderness of his frame, Tanner told the proprietor to have all the garments delivered to the inn as soon as they were ready. He walked over to the next street and entered a small dark building whose hanging sign proclaimed it The Tipsy Hedgehog. The pub was noisy, full of the smell of wonderful cooking and had a friendly feel to it. Tanner grabbed a seat at a table and signaled the barman. “Two pints of Annie's best and two plates of whatever she has for lunch.” As the man departed, he leaned his elbows on the table. “You're puzzled. I can't say as I blame you.”

“Well forgive me, Mr. Tanner, but I can't help wondering what happens if my new employer doesn't like me. At the moment I know very little about him or what is expected of me.” Q sipped the excellent ale that arrived as he finished speaking. Two plates joined the glasses as the barman returned with chops and roasted potatoes. He waited for Tanner to begin eating before taking a small bite himself.

“First of all, call me Bill or Tanner. I don't much favor formality. May I call you Roy?” Q winced but nodded since he was used to people ignoring his request in that regard. Tanner noticed. “You prefer something else?” 

It would chafe if he didn't say something now and, after all, many people preferred nick names to their given one. “I prefer Q,” he said quietly. “I'm not fond of any of my names. Q has always been sufficient for my friends.” He suppressed the thought that he no longer really had friends.

“Q it is then,” Tanner acknowledged cheerfully. He finished the rest of his chop and started on the potatoes. Glancing across, he gestured with his fork at Q's still mostly full plate. As Q began eating in earnest, Tanner spoke between bites. “So the household is a trifle odd but a good place for all that. I suppose I'm the estate manager. I handle outside business and accounts and see to keeping the staff content. Tyler, you met already. He was a groom under our old coachman but he was a sailor before that. A lot of the staff are ex Navy. And then there's Moneypenny. She's the housekeeper, for lack of a better term, although she does a great deal more than the usual. She oversees the kitchen but learned her knife skills elsewhere.”

“Tyler said she was a pirate?” Q ventured.

Tanner grinned. “She wouldn't deny it if you asked her. She was rather proud of her reputation. The Commander encouraged her to retire.”

“The Commander?” Q asked. “You've called him that before.”

“Guess nobody has told you who you're working for. Your new employer is Commander James Bond, late of Her Majesty's Navy. He retired but tends to keep those he valued around him.” 

Q digested that information for a bit. “Were you also in the Navy?”

“Not exactly,” Tanner replied. “I was a chandler. I provisioned ships. I also passed on information as to who was more than dabbling in illegal activity, more than the average anyway. When he retired, I didn't get along as well with some of the newer men. He asked me if I'd take a job with him.”

“But why Scotland?” Q asked, forgetting to be anxious and letting his natural curiosity guide him.

Tanner drained his ale. “His family home is here. Huge old pile of stone in the middle of nowhere called Skyfall. And if you're done, we should head back to the inn so we have some chance of making it back there sometime before full dark.”

Q hurriedly finished the last of his ale and and followed Tanner to the door. His mind sorted through what he had learned already and hoped he could convince Tanner to talk some more in the carriage.


	5. Chapter 5

Tyler was waiting when they arrived back at the inn. “Packages arrived, Mr. Tanner. I took the liberty of stowing them.” He was making adjustments to the harness as he spoke.

“Very good, Tyler. Have you eaten?” Tanner asked as he checked the number of parcels.

Tyler climbed up to the box. “Aye, I did. And I had the innkeeper put something by for the road as well. Horses are ready so best get in.”

Tanner gestured at the carriage door and Q scrambled in. As soon as he and Tanner were in, although barely seated, Tyler clucked to the team and they pulled away from the inn. The roads through the city were busy and the noise filtered in making conversation difficult. When they reached the highway, the din died down as fewer vehicles moved here and most of them were slower goods wagons which the coach swiftly passed. Q leaned back until they left the crowds behind, keeping his face turned from the window. He never quite let go of the feeling he could be watched. Tanner seemed not to notice, idly watching the scenery change. He was the one to eventually break the silence. “I suppose you have more questions. Feel free to ask but, I do warn you, some stories are not mine to tell.”

Q gave it some thought.”How do you know Professor Prescott? I mean, he seems an unlikely associate given his age and solitary habits.”

Tanner chuckled. “When I was much younger, I and my cousin took a long voyage with him. We spent fourteen months in each other's company in India and the Far East, as he studied with mathematical scholars and historians. Jack and I weren't so fond of the dusty old books but we did get a unique education. And I learned that the man's judgment about people is impeccable. He took two wet behind the ears boys and turned them into men. He says you're honest and dependable. That's all I need.” Tanner paused and looked at Q to see what effect his comments had and then back out the window. “I am going to take a guess and you never have to say yes or no. If you have something in your past that is troublesome, unless you choose to tell me, it is not my business, provided you fulfill the terms of your employment. Give that your best and you will never hear any complaint from me.” Tanner smiled a bit as he turned back. “After all, the housekeeper shot the Commander. You have rather a bit to do to before you achieve that level of misdeed.”

Q gaped. “She actually shot him?!”

Tanner laughed. “Tyler wasn't joking. Moneypenny is West Indian but ended up in the Far East with her employer. She was abducted by a notorious pirate whom she promptly killed. She took over his ship and crew and proceeded to make them very wealthy men. They, understandably, did anything she asked. She literally taunted every British authority in the area and nobody seemed able to catch her. The Commander made it a point that he was going to succeed. I was in Shanghai at the time, a very lucrative place for a chandler if you know the right people. The Commander asked me to pose as the captain of a fat merchant vessel. He knew I was getting ready to move back to England and it seemed a fine way to end my time there. When the pirates attacked, he brought his ship out from around the island he had been using as cover and attempted to board. Moneypenny put a bullet in his shoulder and he lunged straight at her and put them both over the side. Both of them almost drowned before we dragged them out. She disappeared out of the brig while he was recovering but showed up at the steamer dock the day he was invalided home. She said the piracy business was not what it was and she was taking her fortune to England. He declined to notify the authorities as he had just had his command pulled out from under him and was still a bit resentful of that. She also had done some other services for the Crown under the table. On board the steamer, we all played poker most evenings. We decided over a game one night that we would pool our earnings from our Far East experience and go into business together. We bought a steel concern that supplies the maritime trade. It makes us all a good income. Technically we are all partners but we keep up appearances at the house as it suits us that people not ask a lot of questions. And Moneypenny really is a good housekeeper. She terrified one poor footman that chanced a bit of fun with one of the maids. The rest caught on quickly. The result is a staff that works together with respect and keeps their mouths shut about the people they work for.”

Q wasn't sure how he had happened on this situation. It all seemed a bit bizarre the way it was described. He supposed it was no stranger than how he had ended up here. “So can you tell me anything about the Commander? Is he terrifying as well?”

Tanner sighed. “That one. He didn't take to retirement well. The steel business doesn't hold his interest much. He's usually working on some improvement to naval vessels. The current one is a new method for more efficient use of steam. The last assistant blew up the small boiler he was using and fled in a panic. He bellowed that I needed to get him someone competent and I bellowed right back that if he didn't frighten the lad he might have been less clumsy.” Tanner gave a rueful chuckle. “He didn't much like being told he was behaving like an ass.”

“What did he do?” Q asked a bit breathlessly. 

“He grabbed a fancy hunting piece of his father's and went out the back of the house and spent the day shooting at targets. He expended his temper along with a ridiculous amount of ammunition but he was civil at dinner when I told him I was going to look for one more assistant and he had better not break that one.” Tanner grinned reassuringly. “His bark is worse than his bite. He's big and broad and has a very impressive voice. He'll try to intimidate you. Just stand your ground and he'll respect you.”

Tanner fell silent and seemed to doze a bit. Q settled back and wondered if he could manage to live in the place Tanner had described. He reflected that he had survived worse up to this moment. He could and would survive this.


	6. Chapter 6

They rattled through a small village and signs pointing to a narrow road leading off from the main one. The evening sky was holding on to the last pale glimmers of the sunset when the coach approached two stone gateposts, each topped with a statue of a stag. Q leaned out with interest as the coach paused for a moment. He caught the glimmer of the coach lamps against the brass plate on one post, Skyfall. The coach rolled ahead, the tired horses scenting home and moving a bit more quickly as they came down the graveled drive. The house was a huge pile of stone, lighted windows casting rectangles of illumination over the space in front. A door opened and a dark figure stood silhouetted in it. As the coach rolled to a stop, an intriguing person stepped forward, tightly curling hair caught back in a beaded scarf, skin the color of coffee with milk, large dark eyes and wearing loose trousers and a long jacket in shimmery embroidered silk. 

“Welcome back, Tanner,” this apparition said, smiling and stepping back a little to let the coach door open. She immediately spotted Q. “Hullo, I'm Moneypenny. You're the new assistant?” When Q just nodded mutely, she laughed, a musical sound. “Don't be shy. I won't bite.”

Q managed to climb down without tripping and offered a hand as it seemed the most polite thing to do, holding his cap in the other hand. “Very pleased to meet you,” he managed to say.

She shook his hand firmly and looped an arm through his elbow, towing him along to the house. “Best get you settled. He'll want to meet you.” She jerked her head toward a door to the right of the entry. “Tanner, keep up. Where are the lad's things?”

Q found himself maneuvered up the stairs to a comfortable bedroom. Tanner followed with a footman behind toting the assorted packages. The man was dismissed, looking curiously over his shoulder as he left. “Best change clothes then, Q.” Tanner was opening parcels, laying out the new suit and a shirt. “I'm going to wash up myself. Moneypenny will wait outside and show you where to go. Oh, wait.” He pulled out a small key and opened a door opposite the one they had come in by. Q looked past him and opened his mouth in amazement. The small room held a sink with taps and an odd porcelain structure in the corner. Q had seen flushing toilets of course but never one in a private home. Tanner demonstrated how the mechanism worked. He pointed at the other door to the room. “That's the Commander's room. This was originally a suite intended for someone who kept a valet. We thought it was a good fit in case he had something about the projects to discuss after hours. If he bothers you too much just lock the door and ignore him. Both doors lock from either side but this is the only key to yours.” He handed over the key.

As the door closed, Q found himself mechanically going through the motions of changing. He hung the old suit in the wardrobe, well back. He likewise stowed his much patched boots. He would brush and tidy them and keep them in reserve. The new garments fit better than any he had worn in years. The man in the glass was not the optimistic student of two and a half years ago. Neither was he the thin beaten creature he had been when he had first seen himself in a mirror after his escape. He cleaned his spectacles, fidgeted with his tie and remembered to comb his hair. He exited the room to find the housekeeper leaning against the wall opposite. She straightened and advanced, “May I?” she asked, raising her hands. At a nod, she did something to the tie and adjusted his collar then patted his shoulders lightly. She gave him a bright smile. “You can call me Moneypenny or Eve. What do I call you?”

He resisted the urge to fiddle with his collar after she had just fixed it and answered, “Q, I prefer just that if you don't mind.”

Turning is a whirl of bright silk, she headed to the stairs. “Follow me then, Q. Welcome to Skyfall. The Commander may own the place but Tanner and I run it. Come to me if you need anything. Breakfast and supper are served in the small dining room but lunch is whenever you like. Feel free to raid the kitchen.”

He ventured a request as he hurried to keep up. “I really only have tea in the mornings most of the time.”

She turned to eye him up and down. “You could do with a bit of feeding up. And Cook's drop scones are not to be sneezed at.” She continued down the stairs and crossed the main hall, knocked once and opened the heavy door to the right of the main entry.


	7. Chapter 7

The room was a library or study, the walls lined with shelves and a few heavy tables with open books and piles of papers on them. Nearest the windows that faced the drive, was a pair of chairs, covered in dark leather and a small table between with a decanter and glasses on it. A man stood with his back to the windows facing them as they entered. Moneypenny stepped to the side allowing Q to enter. The man across the room was a bit taller than Q and was dressed in a finely tailored dark grey suit. He gave an impression of hard muscled fitness. His hair was blond and cropped quite close. His eyes were his most arresting feature, a clear icy blue. Moneypenny's voice behind him made Q jump a bit. “James, this is Q, your new assistant. Q this is Commander Bond.”

Q took a few steps forward and managed to say, “Good evening, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

Bond stepped forward and gave a frowning glare. “What kind of a name is Q and since when is this boy at all qualified for the job?” 

Q heard an indrawn breath behind him but, before Moneypenny could speak, he found his own voice. “The name I choose to use, if you please. And my qualifications are vouched for by my reference from Professor Prescott.” He handed over the letter, which Bond accepted and began to read. Q meanwhile glanced at the table nearest him, eying the diagram that was topmost on the stack of papers. “By the way, this will never work.”

Bond raised his head slowly, his expression all but unreadable. “What exactly won't work?”

Q carefully held up the paper. “The calculations are all wrong. This propeller blade needs to be, oh, roughly a third larger in surface area to make proper use of the thrust this engine can generate. I am assuming of course, that speed and agility are the object.”

Bond's eyes narrowed. “How big exactly?”

Q understood a test when he saw it. He found a pencil and a blank corner on a page with many crossed out and corrected calculations. He tapped the pencil thoughtfully against the paper then began to jot down the numbers. He glanced from the equations to the original diagram and nodded. He passed over the paper. Bond studied it and then looked at him sharply. “Not a lucky guess.”

“You have the calculations there. I don't guess. I could make them more precise with an understanding of the materials involved but that is accurate to the degree your original plan is.” Q stood firmly, determined not to allow his fear to show. 

Tanner's voice crowed behind him. “James, you've been bested. Just admit it and move on. Face it. I've found you an assistant with a good head on his shoulders and who you can't bully.” Tanner walked over to the decanter and poured himself a small glass of what looked like whisky. “A toast to Q, the latest member of our motley crew.”

Moneypenny accepted a glass as well and confirmed the toast with a hearty, “Hear, hear.” 

Offered a glass of his own, which proved the liquid to be a fine smokey whisky, Q sipped sparingly. Bond raised his own glass , the expression on his face might be grudgingly called a smile. “You start work tomorrow. We'll see how you do.”


	8. Chapter 8

Q actually slept. He had retired to his room, guided by a cheerful little maid, and washed with warm water from the taps and slipped into his nightshirt which had been laid out on the bed. The few sips of unaccustomed spirits had made him a bit drowsy and he read only a page or two of his novel before dousing the lamp and curling up under the covers. He awoke to a rap at the door and felt his heart begin to race before he recalled where he was. He cautiously unlocked the door. The same bright faced maid was there with clean towels. Cognizant that he wore only his nightshirt Q asked the girl to leave them outside. He quickly donned his drawers and his suit trousers and vest. He leaned out the door, ascertaining there was no one else about, and quickly brought the towels in. He knocked at the door of the washroom but found it empty, the other door locked. He had the pleasure of shaving with hot water and the use of a clean towel. He had no watch but guessed the arrival of the maid would coincide with breakfast being ready shortly. He quickly cleaned his teeth and finished dressing and made certain his hair was smoothed down. It had a tendency to defy his wishes and form disorderly waves. 

He was able to find his way downstairs and located the dining room by the sounds of voices and the smell of coffee. Moneypenny was there, speaking to an older woman he assumed was the cook. The housekeeper, who used to be a pirate, was attired in a high collared red silk gown with bell like sleeves and embroidered clouds and trees on the panels. She smiled when she saw him and gestured him to a chair. Tanner entered a few moments later wearing a dressing gown and pajamas, yawning as he held a newspaper in one hand, pouring coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard with the other. He grunted something that might have been good morning and settled in a chair that left him close to the coffee. Q decided breakfast here was a generally informal meal. He blinked as a brown stoneware teapot made an appearance in front of him. He inhaled and the mingled scents of citrus and bergamot drew an appreciative sigh. He poured a cup, adding just a tiny bit of sugar and held the cup, warming his fingers. He was halfway through that first cup when the other member of the odd household made his appearance. The Commander wore a Chinese fashioned dressing gown, very dark blue with a ship under sail embroidered on it. He was wearing his suit trousers under it with a crisp white shirt but no tie. Q almost dropped the cup. Utterly unaware of the chaos he had just created, Bond settled with his own coffee and newspaper. Q kept his eyes on his cup and then on the plate placed before him. This was not the time or the place for his previously dormant imagination to wake up and tell him that kissing that small triangle of tanned skin revealed by Bond's open shirt would be a heady pleasure. He was not doing this. He was going to be civilized and eat the excellent breakfast. Moneypenny sat down opposite him. “I told Cook to get you tea. Earl grey is alright?” Q was only able to nod, gesturing with the cup as he sipped. The plate was another excuse not to let his attention wander. The drop scones were fluffy and delightful and topped with a pear compote. He surprised himself by finishing the entire portion, washing it down with most of the excellent tea. 

Bond finished his second cup of coffee and rose to leave. He turned at the door. “Q, meet me in the library. I'll be there in a few minutes.” Q released a pent breath. Tanner and Moneypenny were discussing some household matter. Q gathered himself for a difficult day. He hadn't felt anything in the way of attraction in so long it was now alien. After escaping Cuthbridge, he had not wished to even think about intimate things at all. It had taken months before his body had reasserted it's needs sufficiently that he roused in his sleep. And now, he suddenly found himself wanting to explore his employer with hands and tongue and this was just not something he could allow himself to consider. He walked to the library, thinking of cold weather and quelled some of his excitement. He settled at one of the tables and studied some of the diagrams which all seemed drawn in the same quick and decisive style. He divined the purposes of some of the devices pictured but others eluded him. 

Bond entered the room, very quietly for such a large man. He was wearing his suit, collar done up now. Q found it didn't help much. The fine wool was tailored very closely, leaving little doubt about the contours of muscle under the fabric. Q was grateful the table was between them as he stood respectfully. “Never mind the niceties,” Bond said, moving a bit impatiently to pull a set of plans out from under the ones Q had been examining. “This is the project I am most interested in completing. I want to perfect a method for removing barnacles and other marine growth without hand scraping or hauling a ship out. I wanted something that minimized the risk to the sailors. I was toying with the idea of running a high pressure line from the steam boiler and directing it against the bottom.”

Q straightened his spectacles and leaned over the plans. He caught a hint of a mildly spicy scent as Bond moved to let him see the details. He took a hard swallow and fought his reactions. The fear of what Bond might do if he realized the struggle going on on the other side of the table from him was what finally cooled Q's reaction. He cleared his throat to make sure his voice was steady. “I know nothing about barnacles. I will need some kind of scale model to test when I have worked out the math. There's also the consideration of how to aim it effectively. A pretty problem.” He drew a blank sheet of paper to him and began transcribing equations. Absorbed in the puzzle, he got up and scanned the bookshelves and the tables, making pleased noises when he found that the books included some very good scientific material on naval engineering. He was vaguely aware of tea appearing at his elbow accompanied by some excellent lemon biscuits. He raised his head when he realized someone was calling him. 

“Mr. Shepherd. Q!” Running a hand through his already disarranged hair, Q looked up from his page of notes. The shadows in the room had lengthened and the lamps were lit. Bond was standing over him, a vaguely amused look on his features. “You appear to have lost track of the time. We have been called to supper.” 

Q blinked and examined the work he had been doing, his fingers stained with ink. He looked up again. “I am sorry. I was quite engaged.” He pushed back from the table and stood, finding Bond standing too close for his peace of mind. 

The man raised a hand and made the briefest of contact with the side of Q's face with a blunt forefinger. “You may want to wash up a bit. You have a spot of ink there.” He smiled genially and turned to exit the room, leaving Q to stare after him wondering how he was supposed to make sense of this man. He headed up to his room, finding it without assist this time, and stared at himself in the mirror. Sure enough, there was a small ink mark on his left cheek. He scrubbed it clean and washed his hands carefully. He sighed at his hair which he had combed straight this morning and lamented the lack of any oil or pomade to help tame it. He settled for running a wet comb through. It would leave it looking reasonable until it dried at least. He straightened his spine and adjusted his tie. He was not going to allow a lack of self control to undermine his position here. He remembered the desperation that had choked him before Professor Prescott had befriended him and knew he would do anything in his power to never feel that again. He exited the room and headed down the stairs to supper.


	9. Chapter 9

The next week settled into a routine. Q never had a problem waking early. His nerves had frayed too badly to stay asleep once the servants stirred. He would find himself staring at the ceiling after hearing the light step of the maid moving down the hall leaving his fresh towels. He would shave and dress and come down to breakfast, exchange a few polite remarks with Moneypenny and Tanner. Then he and Bond would head to the library where they worked throughout the day. Occasionally, Q would look up to find the man had disappeared at some point only to later find he had returned just as silently. The work he was doing was challenging his mind and he felt a sense of freedom that was as welcome as it was unexpected. He still felt a need to guard his speech and reactions around Mr. Bond but he was being treated with respect and was provided with everything he might need. A little self restraint was just civilized. 

He had approached Moneypenny at the end of his first week to inquire about where he might launder his clothes. She blinked and then chuckled softly. “Just leave them for the maid to collect. A stack by the door will do.” That made perfect sense. Prescott's household had operated similarly. He had carefully sorted through his garments and did as suggested. Retuning to his room the following evening, he found a stack of neatly folded items on the bench at the foot of the bed. He began to place them in the various drawers in the wardrobe, hanging the immaculately pressed shirts to avoid any unnecessary creases. All of the garments were fresh and bright. Everything that required starch was done up with the exact amount to provide a good finish without excessive stiffness. He stared in complete bemusement at what was left on the bench when he had put everything away neatly. There was a pair of flannel pyjamas in a pale tan stripe and a dressing gown in a glorious shade of deep purple with a bird embroidered on the panels. He puzzled a bit and decided it might be a phoenix. There had obviously been an error on the part of the laundress or the person delivering the clean clothes. He folded them back up and headed down to the kitchen, hoping to find Moneypenny or Tanner. He hoped the maid would not get into trouble but if someone thought the garments had gone missing that might be a worse thing.

“Oh, good. Moneypenny, I am sure someone will be missing these. They were mixed in with my clean laundry.” He held out the items. 

She looked up from an account book and grinned widely. “No one will be missing them. They're yours.” She raised an admonitory finger. “The girl doing the laundry noticed the state of your night shirt. It is not sufficient for the cold nights here. We keep a supply of such things for guests that come unprepared.”

“But I'm not a guest,” he protested, finally withdrawing the hand holding the pyjamas when she shrugged in complete unconcern. “Well this is certainly not something for an unexpected guest.” he resumed, holding out the dressing gown. She just shrugged again and waved it off with a negligent gesture of one hand. Q swore the cook, working over her kneading board in the corner snickered. 

“We have a huge trunk full of those upstairs. We still have trading concerns in Shanghai. They are always sending things our way. Some of it we sell, some not. You seemed not to have a dressing gown. If you check your wardrobe, I also had the staff place a pair of carpet slippers there. They're from local wool and quite cozy. Now you'll have something to wear to breakfast or for wanders down to the library in the middle of the night. Believe me when I say that this place is drafty in the winter.”

Q flushed. He had thought no one knew about that foray. He also sensed he had lost the argument as Moneypenny went back to perusing her accounts. He left the kitchen but heard a faint chuckle from the cook as he did so. Sure enough, his wardrobe held a pair of felted wool carpet slippers in black with gold piping around the opening. He sighed and looked at the garments he had, apparently, acquired. On an impulse, he shrugged off his coat and picked up the swath of purple silk. It was heavy and reflected the light with some sparkle and he realized some of the threads were metallic. He stood before the glass and slipped it on. Belted, it fell just above his feet and the sleeves covered all but the tips of his fingers. He ran a hand carefully over the fabric. It was the most amazing thing he had ever worn and he was secretly delighted with it. He wondered if he would ever dare wear it to breakfast. He sighed and thought it unlikely. He was shocked when Tanner's cheerful voice intruded. 

“Sorry, but your door was ajar. I just finished with my bath. The tank is still hot if you'd care to take advantage. Oh, say, that looks wonderful. Glad it suits.” Tanner's thinning hair was damp and he was carrying a towel over his arm and was wearing his own dressing gown, legs bare and slippers on his feet. 

Q blinked stupidly. “Bath?”

Tanner slapped his forehead. “Damn, I must have forgotten to tell you. We have a tub off the kitchen with it's own heater. I just had the tank heated so you might as well make use. Come on, bring your soap and such.”

Propelled along by Tanner's enthusiasm and the prospect of a hot bath, Q gathered up his soap and the pyjamas and dressing gown and changed his boots for the new carpet slippers. He followed the man back to the kitchen. Moneypenny had abandoned her place, bread was rising on the counter and the cook was busying herself with what appeared to be a recipe book. Tanner tapped a valve on the wall and gestured to the small wooden door beside it. Q edged it open. A large enameled tub stood in the center with pipes leading to it from a tank in the corner which hissed cheerily. Tanner opened the taps and hot water splashed in. He affixed a plug at one end and the water rose. “Here, plenty of hot. Just add cold until you get it as you like. Plenty of towels on the pipe there. Keeps them warm for when you get out. Just latch the door here and you've all the privacy you could wish.” With that, Tanner closed the door. Q fastened the latch behind him and contemplated the tub. There was a wooden table next to the door. He carefully removed his clothing, folding each garment and setting them neatly, resting his spectacles on top. He placed the soap on the floor in reach of the tub and, after a second's thought, placed the pyjamas and dressing gown over the same pipe as the clean towels. He slid the slippers off only as he shut off the water and climbed into the tub. 

He was still a bit tense as he sank up to his chin in the glorious hot water. He leaned against the back of the tub and listened. The noises were easily distinguished. The occasional tapping of the pipes as they cooled, the cook bustling about her domain outside the door, the creaking of the wood floors, all commonplace and explicable. Nothing alarming. He gradually relaxed, letting the heat soothe him. He normally never allowed himself to be naked this long, feeling anxious until he was fully clothed again. This felt safe and he could allow himself to enjoy. He wasn't sure how long he lay there but realized the water was cooling. He quickly scrubbed with the soap and rinsed, feeling as if he had washed away months of worry. He dried himself with the wonderfully warm towel and donned the pyjamas. There was a drawstring at the waist and he snugged them up and carefully buttoned the jacket. The dressing gown slid over all as he stepped into the slippers. His hair must look a fright but there was no mirror and he had left his comb in his room. He gathered his clothes and, donning his spectacles, unlatched the door, stepping into the kitchen. 

“Good evening, Q.” The deep voice spoke from a chair near the stove. Q whirled and stared at Bond, seated relaxed, a glass of whisky next to him and attired in his own dressing gown. When he stood up, Q swallowed hard. It appeared he was wearing little else besides that garment, the open collar showing tanned skin and his legs bare below the hem which rode considerably higher on his frame than Q's did. 

“Oh, good evening, Commander. I'm sorry. Were you waiting long?” He gestured at the door to the bath and sank back against the wall as Bond approached, his steps measured and quiet but the walk having something that spoke of predator about it. Q tried to hide the tiny shiver that raced up his back.

“Not at all,” Bond responded, moving past and grasping the door. He turned back before entering and looked squarely at Q, gaze moving down and then up to his face. “Have your eyes always been that green?” he asked seemingly out of nowhere. He said nothing else, entering the small tub room and latching the door. Q was left standing in the now empty kitchen, listening to the splash of water through the door and trying to quell the reaction of his body. He was both aroused and terrified. The two should be mutually exclusive but the evidence was undeniable. 

The trek back to his own room was, thankfully, not interrupted by anyone else in the halls. Q opened the door, closed and locked it and made sure to quickly lock the washroom door as well. He leaned back against the door, pulse pounding in his ears. He forced himself to take several deep breaths and sat on the edge of his mattress. He reflexively slid a hand over the silk of the dressing gown and hissed as he brushed over his erection. What the hell was wrong with him that he reacted so strongly to a man who was out of reach? He untied the belt and stared down at the evidence that his body had no sense. He sighed and then hissed again as the movement rubbed his pyjamas against his cock. Maybe the solution was to just reduce the possibility of a physical reaction and the best way to do that was to work out his arousal the most expedient way. Accordingly he untied the waist of the pyjamas and leaned back against his pillows. This was old and familiar, he'd been doing this since he knew what his prick was for besides pissing. After Cuthbridge he hadn't wanted to touch himself at all. But when he began to get hard in his sleep, his body remembered that this was something he could do for himself that felt good. The first time he'd consciously taken himself in hand after all that, he had cried when he reached completion. It felt like freedom, albeit a momentary one. Now he wrapped one hand around himself, the grip sure and exactly as firm as he liked. He allowed himself a soft moan as he stroked slowly up and down. The moisture leaking from the tip was quickly spread around, easing the movement. He cupped his palm over the head, rubbing lightly and his hips thrust up, muscles tightening and let a long heartfelt groan well out of his throat as he came. He stilled his hands and breathed hard and then realized he was about to make a huge mess. He wiped up quickly with one of the used towels. Surely the laundress wouldn't look that closely. He hung the dressing gown carefully in the wardrobe and settled back on the bed. He felt better, more relaxed and more certain he could control his reactions around Bond. 

Q reached for his book. It had become a nightly habit to read a bit of something that was not technical. It seemed Professor Prescott had been wise in more ways that he had appreciated, The plot was unnecessarily complex to his mind but the characters were engaging enough and the tale of a cursed diamond and multiple misdirected clues absorbed him. It did, that is, until a noise intruded. He had been aware that Bond had returned from his bath. He had heard the door open and close. Now he registered a sort of rhythmic squeak and an occasional soft sound that might have been words but which he couldn't decipher. Q had sharp ears and had shared rooms with any number of young men. He knew that pattern and his imagination supplied the rest. Bond was doing exactly what Q had been doing and was, apparently enjoying it just as well, if the next half suppressed groan was anything to judge by. Q now had a new set of problems. The first was that he knew that if he could hear Bond, presumably the reverse was true. The second was that listening to the indistinct sounds had fired his imagination and his urges and he was, again, as hard as he had been before. He had to relieve the pressure and he now had to be silent while he did so. Worse yet, the only image he could call up was Bond. He wondered if the rest of the man's body was as tanned. Was his hair blond all over or darker in some places? And of course that led to imagining what his cock might look like and Q stifled a sudden gasp as gave in and stroked himself. Stubbornly, this time he couldn't finish quickly. And every second meant that Bond might finish and then hear him. He finally called up a memory of himself and a boy from his schooldays, a pleasant afternoon in a stable loft and the fellow offering to suck him. He had never experienced that before and the sensation had overwhelmed him, much as the memory did now. But this time, as he finished, it was Bond's face he saw, a somewhat superior grin on his face as he asked if Q had liked that. He calmed his breathing and listened carefully. He heard a soft creak of the bed frame and nothing more. Breathing and pulse returned to normal and he repeated his cleanup with the towel, not daring to use the shared washroom. It took him a long time to fall asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Bond was absent at breakfast the following morning. Although Q dared not ask any questions, Tanner offered that the Commander had left early for a trip of several days to visit the steel mills and pick up a new experimental boiler. “You can continue whatever you were working on although, as you haven't had a day off yet, you might want to do so. You may want to stretch your legs a bit with the weather still fine. Once the real chill sets in, it's not so pleasant.” 

Q glanced out the dining room windows at the mist just clearing from the area. There were gentle hills in the distance but the immediate area was in a valley and he had heard enough about bogs to not want to encounter one. “How do I know where it's safe to walk?”

“Keep away from anything that looks smooth and very green. You'll find any number of well used tracks. Keep to them and you'll be fine. You can take one of the waterproofs and a walking stick at the back door. If you're unsure of the ground, poke at it first.” Tanner sounded quite nonchalant about it and Q thought the exercise might be good for him. 

“Oh, Moneypenny? Might Cook have something for dry skin? My hands are suffering a bit. And if the weather is going to get colder, I am sure I will need something.” He thought that was a fairly good excuse. Moneypenny seemed not to see through him. 

“Tell Cook to give you a tub of the stuff she makes for me. Might ask her to use a different scent. Mine is a bit too sweet for you I think.” She glanced at Tanner. “Do you suppose James is going to see the wool merchant as well? We need to settle a new price for the contract before the spring.” 

Tanner snorted. “He'd see Mr. Riddell even if he didn't have the contract in mind, if only to get a chance to see his youngest.”

Moneypenny nodded and smiled and Q let his curiosity overcome his reticence. “Does this Mr. Riddell have an attractive daughter then?” 

Tanner laughed again. “Only sons. But the youngest is a bonny lad as the Scots say.” Moneypenny glared at Tanner and he quickly looked down at his morning paper.

Q covered his own embarrassment by finishing his breakfast and going to his room to change into his old suit and boots, not wanting to spoil his new things, and then heading to the kitchen. The cook did indeed have a salve for dry skin. She promised to have a batch ready when he returned from his wander and handed him some sandwiches and a canteen to take along. He found a waterproof that more or less fit and and grabbed one of the heavy walking sticks. He set off on the track that circled the immediate grounds. The first thing his eye lit on was a small chapel. It was old and appeared disused and had a small attached graveyard. He estimated it was about a quarter mile away but as he was about to move toward it he recalled the comments about bogs. He examined the ground and noted some suspicious areas but there was a track. He set out along it and eased into a steady pace as his muscles warmed. The sun had cleared all the mist by now and the day was cool but tolerable. Reaching the small stone building, he confirmed his opinion of it's abandonment. The gate to the churchyard was sagging as he pushed it far enough to enter. Some of the stones were so old they were illegible. Two nearer the gate were newer and, from the dates, he calculated they might be the Commander's parents. They had died within a day of each other. He spent a few moments there as it seemed respectful and then moved on to the building. To his surprise, the door was latched but not locked. The hinges sagged a bit and the heavy oak ground over the stone paving of the floor, Dust stirred in the sunlight pouring through the deep set windows. The pews were dark with layers of varnish and birds rustled and called in the roof overhead. He didn't recall the last time he had been in a church of any description. Prescott had never attended. This place was peaceful and he thought he might try to find time to come here and explore some of the old carvings. 

But he had come out with the intention of walking so he left the chapel behind after making sure the door and the gate were both closed and strode off on what seemed to be a sheep track. It tended uphill so he was a bit winded from the unaccustomed exercise when he reached a vantage point. Part of an old stone wall offered a place to sit and eat a sandwich. He spent an hour watching the clouds cast moving shadows over the moor spread out before him. The house was easily seen in the clear air and he laughed at the antics of a small group of sheep that kept nosing each other out of good spots of graze. He realized he was happy. He had a place he belonged and people who respected him and work that pleased him. He wasn't who he had expected to be but he was someone with value and that was exhilarating in a very unexpected way. 

Q found himself whistling as he moved quickly downhill, scattering the sheep and heading for the track he had followed up here. The maid tutted at him when she saw the state of his boots and made him leave them at the door so he walked through the kitchen in his stocking feet. Cook slapped his hand away from the biscuits cooling on the table but handed him a scone with fresh honey and a small earthenware pot. “And mind don't eat that,” she said as she shooed him away. He finished the scone and licked his fingers and went upstairs. As he had suspected the pot contained the requested salve. It was thick and cool and scented with a vaguely citrus scent. He rubbed a bit between his fingers and grinned. Of course some would soften his hands but only secondarily. He changed his suit for his usual one and combed his hair, finding several small bits of grass in it. The big hall clock chimed the hour and he headed to supper.


	11. Chapter 11

After dinner, Moneypenny and Tanner suggested a game of cards. They dragged Tyler into a round of poker and played for penny stakes. The others intermittently told improbable stories of their previous careers. Q having little he thought safe to tell, focused on his cards and limited his consumption of the excellent whisky that went with the game. Too much might encourage him to speak unwisely. The game broke up when Tyler begged off saying he was up early to fetch the post from the village and fill a shopping list for Cook. Q ambled contentedly to bed, He washed and took care of necessary matters and locked the washroom door. He knew that Bond was still away but he could not overthrow the caution that had become so much a part of him. He very deliberately set out to enjoy his new hand cream. Certainly he was using his hands to apply it. He slicked his cock which was already firming in anticipation. He spent some time trying a variety of touches. He stroked and fondled his balls and pulled gently to stave off coming too soon. There was no one around to hear him and he was not missing the chance to enjoy every sensual touch. He wondered if Bond liked the same things, what he did when he was alone. And he recalled the odd remark from breakfast. Had Tanner implied that Bond favored men with his attentions? At the thought, Q found his arousal peaking, imagining Bond with a young man, sharing the sort of intimacies that had once been a joy for him. He sighed his pleasure as he came but felt a sudden sadness as he wiped himself clean and tucked himself respectably away. 

It was useless to imagine any real connection for himself. He wasn't sure he could let anyone touch him. And if he did, they would see the scars and ask questions. And there was the fact that he was an employee here. And he was thin and awkward and certainly very far from the description 'bonny lad' Tanner had used. There was no point in allowing himself useless fantasy. He needed to be content with a safe place to live and congenial friends. 

He slept restlessly, teased by dreams of a lover who kissed and caressed him and murmured affectionately in his ear. He awoke hard and quickly relieved the tension and dressed for the day. He contemplated the dressing gown but shook his head sadly and finished putting his coat on and settling the knot in his tie. 

Breakfast was unusually quiet. He had a suspicion that the subdued atmosphere was due to Tanner and Moneypenny indulging in a bit more drink than he had over the game the previous evening. He repaired to the library and began some research on the next phase of the project. Tanner came in around noon and looked at what he was working on. 

“It seems like you've impressed him,” Tanner commented. There was no doubt in Q's mind who was being referred to. He finished a line of the sketch and looked up.

“How can you tell? He's enthusiastic about the work but barely says a word to me otherwise.” He thought it advisable to keep to himself the comment made in the kitchen. 

“He talks about you occasionally. And he hasn't tried to scare you off after the first evening. Trust me. I've seen him take a dislike to people.” He paused at the door. “I didn't ask, but since Tyler is off to the village, do you want to go along?”

Q frowned. “Why would I? I don't know anyone there and it's not as if I have coin to spend at the market. Indeed, I have everything I need here.”

“Well there is a pub with a pretty barmaid.,” Tanner suggested.

Q shook his head. The idea was ludicrous but he couldn't tell Tanner that. “I was never one for spending much time in pubs. I am quite content to stay here and work.” That seemed safe enough. 

Tanner shrugged. “Well, if you decide otherwise, let Tyler know. He's hitching up the small cart.”

Q turned back to his work. “I'll be sure to do that Tanner. Thank you.” When Tanner left the room, Q sat back and sighed, hands rubbing at his face. It would be so much easier if he actually could feign an interest in the barmaid. He knew some men were like that. He had never felt an inclination to women at all. Even if he could, it wouldn't change anything in the past. Staying isolated in this place was the safest thing for him. Sooner or later Cuthbridge had to give up. But a small shiver up his scarred back told him that he didn't really believe that.


	12. Chapter 12

A bit after noon on the following Monday, there was a clamor in the front drive. A large goods wagon with a team of four sturdy draft horses had pulled up and the driver was consulting with Moneypenny on the steps. Q peered down the hall from the library and watched as Moneypenny gesticulated at the wagon and the shrouded shape that squatted on it. As she was speaking, a second wagon rolled down from the gates, this one piled with lumber. This had to be the experimental boiler and the frame for it. Q dropped his pen and hurried to the front hall. After a quick consultation and the payment of an additional fee, the drivers and their helpers were persuaded to unload the wagons near the workshop, a small detached building that used to be storage for wool. Between cash paid out to the drivers and the assist of the household staff, Q managed to get the lumber placed where it needed to be for the framework. Once the drivers left, it became a matter of getting Tanner and some of the other men to help with fitting the beams together according to the diagram and then hoisting the boiler into place. 

Q slept without dreams that night, exhausted from the physical activity. He spent the next day fitting gages while a miserable squall threw icy rain against the windows. He had to frequently halt the work to warm his hands over the small grate in the corner. Hopefully, once the boiler was working, it would warm the workspace. He did not actually test the boiler. He wanted to wait for Bond to return as he would, undoubtedly, wish to be present. 

When Bond did return, he did so quietly, and without any forewarning. He rode up the drive, turned his horse over to a groom and retired to his room, appearing at supper, shaven, tidy and full of local news he shared with Tanner and Moneypenny. Including the fact that Mr. Riddell's youngest had moved to America to make his own way. Q listened quietly as was his habit, enjoying the excellent roasted chicken and trying to remain unobtrusive. 

Tanner began recounting the arrival of the boiler. “You should have seen it James. Q dragooned half the staff into putting the frame together. You might want to watch that one. He can give orders as well as any captain that ever walked a quarterdeck.”

Q glanced up at the mention of his name and discovered Bond looking at him with a speculative eyebrow raised. With a faint smile, he answered Tanner's comment. “I certainly will do that.”


	13. Chapter 13

The next several days kept Q too busy to think about much but the work. Bond, now that the equipment was in place, was eager to test it. Q was just as interested but was insistent that safety was of paramount concern. After all, the room they were working in still bore the marks of the last failure, scorched walls and damaged plaster. Bond was frustrated by Q adamantly proceeding with low pressure testing. In the midst of one afternoon's tests, Bond reached a hand out for the controls, intent on pushing the test to a higher level. Q shocked himself by grabbing the muscular forearm and hauling back hard. Bond glared and Q glared right back. In as calm a voice as he could muster, he said, “By all means, do as you please. It is, after all, your equipment. But please allow me to leave before you blow it and yourself up.” Bond held perfectly still, meeting Q's stare, before relaxing and withdrawing his hand. 

“Tanner was right. You are quite the little demon when you get angry. I'll have to remember that.” Bond glanced down at his arm with Q's hand still wrapped around it. “Can I have that back?” he asked with a smile that made his eyes spark. Q tucked his hands behind him, feeling completely flustered and knowing he was blushing. He hoped Bond would attribute it to residual irritation.

They worked the rest of the afternoon with no further disagreement. After supper, Bond sat back in his chair and sipped at his wine. “So when do you think we'll be ready for a full pressure test?”

Q was a bit taken by surprise. He nibbled at his lower lip and gave his best estimate. “Perhaps the end of the week. Assuming the next series of low pressure tests give the results I expect.”

Bond allowed a smile to cross his features and once again Q found himself dazzled by the expression. He buried his confusion by focusing on the last of his dessert and departed as soon as it was acceptable to do so. He carefully checked the washroom and found the door to Bond's room closed. He gave a sigh of relief and went about readying himself for bed. Another of the early winter storms was closing in. The wind moaned and whistled around the stone of the house, finding few places to make entry. The place was properly kept up, drafts sealed out and fireplaces kept clean and burning cheerfully to keep out the chill. He tucked himself under the covers and tried to read. He was almost finished with the novel and wondered idly if there might be something similar in the library when he was done with it. After an hour or so, he turned the last page and closed the book. He shrugged the blankets higher and closed his eyes. 

He dreamed. He was sitting at the supper table. Tanner and Moneypenny had left the table. Bond was leaning closer, his hand on Q's forearm in a mirror of how Q had touched him earlier in the afternoon. Bond drew him nearer and Q twisted away. He found himself running down a corridor he thought he recognized. He was frightened, the fear enough to choke him as he pushed the door at the end open and Cuthbridge confronted him, his sneering face a mask of combined lust and hatred. As he advanced with threatening steps and raised the cane he held, Q filled his lungs and screamed, hopelessly, for he knew no one else would hear or care. He threw up his hands to block the blows he knew were coming and felt the tears choking him. 

He struggled to move, his feet feeling as if they were caught in glue. His throat was painful and yet he kept screaming. He felt someone grab his shoulders and tried to strike out but his arms seemed as stuck as his feet. 

“Q! Open your eyes! Wake up! Please wake up!” Bond's voice struck through the tattered remnants of the nightmare and Q opened his eyes to a slightly blurred vision of Bond sitting on the edge of the mattress. The grip on his shoulders was real enough, Bond's strong hands a reassuring presence as he got his breathing under control and tried to slow his racing heart. He swallowed and felt the ache from the screams that had, apparently, been quite real. Bond slowly withdrew one hand and reached for the water on the night stand. Q began to shake and Bond had to hold his hands around Q's on the water glass. He swallowed about half before pushing it away. “That was a hell of nightmare,” Bond observed. 

Q pushed himself up a bit against the pillows and tried his voice. It was hoarse and raspy. “I'm sorry. I must have woken half the house.” He looked around for his glasses and accepted them when Bond handed them to him, still confused by coming out of the nightmare. He glanced at the open door between his and Bond's bedroom. Bond looked over his shoulder.“I'm afraid I was more concerned with your peace of mind than your privacy. I broke the lock. I'll have it fixed in the morning. I'm sorry to intrude but you sounded quite terrified.” Bond was resting one broad hand over Q's, a gesture that was oddly reassuring. 

“Thank you for waking me.” Q had a sudden awful thought. “Did I say anything?” It was bad enough waking up shrieking but if he had said anything intelligible, it didn't bear thinking about.

Bond shrugged. “I couldn't make anything out. I just thought no one should have to experience whatever was so frightening. Do you want me to stay for a bit?”

Q suddenly wanted that desperately but he knew it was a bad idea to begin relying on the presence of this man. He had to be self reliant. He managed a weak smile and shook his head. “I'm sure the nightmare won't come back. I'm sorry for disturbing you.”

Bond rose from his seat and edged back to the connecting door. “If you're sure, but please call if you need anything.” He swung the door to and Q heard the latch on the other door to Bond's room close. He tugged the blankets closer and settled himself for a long night. There would be no more nightmares since he was surely not going back to sleep. He must have dozed off toward the morning, however, as the maid's cheerful humming woke him at the usual hour. He sighed and pushed himself up to begin the day.


	14. Chapter 14

Q was grateful that Bond said nothing about the nightmare. He seemed not at all bothered by his middle of the night awakening and his only acknowledgment was to hand Q a new key later in the day. Apparently one of the stable lads had some experience with locks. Odd mix of skills that but Q was too grateful to question much. 

The nightmare did not recur the following night. Q rather thought his interrupted rest of the night before made certain he would sleep too soundly for any dreams. He was surprised to realize he had woken later than usual, He hurried to breakfast to find Bond the only one still at the table. He had eaten half of the excellent porridge and drunk most of his first cup of tea when he set his spoon down and addressed Bond. “I think we may as well test the boiler fully today. The low pressure tests have all given good results. It seems pointless to delay further”

Bond grinned, rather like a schoolboy anticipating a treat. “After breakfast? I'll alert the staff. After the last set of experiments, they may want to be on the other side of the house.”

Q sniffed, sure of his competence. “I wouldn't agree to this test if I thought there was any danger of an accident.” He swallowed the last of his tea and he and Bond headed to the workshop.

As it turned out, the test was a bit of an anticlimax. They powered the boiler up, ran it for a quarter of an hour at half pressure to warm up and then brought the entire system up to the maximum on the gages. Q circled the apparatus, watching the seals and eying the plume of vapor that chugged out the exhaust valve. After an hour, the room was pleasantly warm and he turned the heat down and then off. Bond sat watching as he wrote in the rapidly filling notebook he was using to chronicle the work. The pencil he was using was the last stub of one he had been given by Prescott. It was down to it's last usable bit and the point broke. He sighed and reached for a knife and realized for the thousandth time that his was long gone. “May I borrow your penknife, please?” he asked Bond.

The knife, a simple utilitarian one with a casing made of polished wood, was handed over. Bond watched, frowning, as Q struggled to sharpen the nub of a pencil. “You would be better off with a new one,” he observed mildly.

Still struggling, and splitting a fingernail as he did so, Q grumbled back without thinking, “I would if I had one or had money for things like spare pencils.” He finally managed to get something of a point and made the last few notes, the boiler ticking in the background as it cooled. Bond pocketed the knife and they went to the study. Q worked on compiling the notes of the experiments to this point in a more compact form and Bond seemed to be consulting his diary. He went back several pages and then forward a few more, tapping his fingers on the desk. He opened a desk drawer and pulled out a moderately heavy looking metal box that clanked as it landed on the desk.

“Q, would you come here for a bit?” Bond was making a note in the diary. Unexpectedly, Bond held out a number of bank notes. “I have just realized you have not received any salary yet.”

Q stiffened, not sure what was happening. “Because I haven't been here a full quarter yet.”

“And I am well aware of that,” Bond replied. “But we have accomplished more in the time you have been here than anyone might have expected. That level of efficiency is valuable. I also realize the holidays are upon us soon and you may have a desire to make gifts to friends.”

Q eyed the offering and made an estimate. It did appear to be the correct amount for his salary as Tanner had quoted it. He carefully accepted the notes and tucked them away in a pocket. “Thank you for the advance. Do you know if there is a stationer in the village?”

Bond raised an admonitory finger. “You are not to spend your salary on items used in furtherance of the work.” He closed the box and wrote a short note on piece of paper. “I have an account with the stationer. Tell him to put new pencils, drafting supplies, notebooks, and anything else you will use on my bill. I suggest you have Tyler drive you tomorrow. I have a call to pay anyway.” Q glanced at the note that advised the stationer, a Mr. Lowe, to put any purchases on Commander Bond's account. He placed the note with the money and returned to his seat at the table nearest the grate. He felt as if he hardly needed the heat today. Bond's confidence in his work was warming him from the inside. He felt valued and his earnings here were far more generous than he had ever had. 


	15. Chapter 15

Bond was absent from breakfast the following morning. Q headed off to the stables after he had finished eating and sought out Tyler. “Commander Bond told me you would be going to the village today and I would like to go along.”

“Aye, sir. A bit of company's always a good thing. You'd best bring a waterproof. The sky looks fit to rain or maybe snow.” He jerked a head in the direction of the iron grey clouds to the northwest. Q hurried back to the kitchen and grabbed a waterproof and was back in the stables in time to see Tyler finish with the last buckle on the harness. Q climbed up on the seat next to the man and Tyler clucked at the horses. The weather was chill but remained just misty as they rolled along the narrow road. 

“How long have you been at Skyfall?” Q asked in an effort to make the drive more congenial.

“Oh, must be about five years. Came right after the Commander invalided out. I was done with my service and he had said I could find a job here. He's a good employer, fair to the staff.” Tyler glanced over and gave a very considering look. “You're not the sort to tell tales or Mr. Tanner wouldn't have brought you aboard. You do know the Commander is a confirmed bachelor, as the saying has it? I just thought you should hear it before someone else gives it out as gossip. Not that many would dare.”

Tyler turned his eyes back to the road as Q sat perplexed. Finally he managed a response. “That hardly seems like a subject he would want discussed by the staff.”

Tyler kept his eyes forward. “I'm only saying it to you so you won't get a shock if you do hear something. Not that anyone outside the house knows anything but folks do gossip.”

“And what do you know, Tyler?” Q asked, trying to level his voice.

“Oh, he used to keep a young Chinese man when he lived in Shanghai. He had a nice little house set up. Saw the lad once. He was taller than the average Chinese and had long black hair that came down to his arse, all plaited up. He was a gorgeous sight even if I do just like the ladies myself. When the Commander had to return home, he wanted to have the fellow come along. He apparently refused, something about supporting his mother and sisters. The Commander signed over the house to him so he'd have a bit of a nest egg. Point is, in Shanghai nobody much cares who you keep company with. Here people are all much too concerned with it to my mind. And if you go into town, you might hear such things.” Tyler pointed ahead. “You can just see the edge of the village there. I'll be about the errands I was given. I'll take you wherever you please and you can meet up at the inn when you're done.” He slapped the reins lightly and the horses moved a bit more smartly. 

Q spent some time with the stationer. Mr. Lowe only glanced once at the note and waved a hand. “Just give me a list laddie and pour yourself some of that cider.” He pointed to a pitcher near the hob of an ancient stone fireplace. “Andrew, get yer narrow arse out here and help.” A boy of about ten appeared out of a dark corner. “Yessir,” he acknowledged. Q was immediately fascinated. The lad was dark skinned but had Mr. Lowe's sharp grey-green eyes. Lowe saw the direction of his gaze and gave Q a shrewdly assessing look. “That lad is my son. His mother is from the Indies and one of the finest women you're like to meet.”

Q sipped the cider. “Is she responsible for the excellent cider as well?” When Lowe nodded, he continued. “Then I am sure she is a most remarkable person to produce such a fine son and this delicious drink.”

Lowe gave a hearty laugh and clapped a hand to Q's shoulder. “Andrew, this man has an order to be filled.” He began rattling off the items and Andrew made quick work of gathering everything and wrapping brown paper around it in a neat parcel. He brought the package and looked over it at Q. 

“Thank you for your help, Master Andrew. You must be a great help to your father.”

The boy beamed. “I'm mostly a good boy, Mam says, except when I won't sit still in church.”

Q smiled in return. “I always had trouble with that as well,” he confided. He accepted the package and shook both Andrew's and Mr. Lowe's hand with a promise to convey their greetings to the rest of the household. He walked down the high street with a bit of spring to his step. He felt normal. This was normal. Taking care of an errand, chatting with a shopkeeper, these were things he had never quite appreciated when he had done them all the time. He tipped his hat to the woman at the door of the small inn and found Tyler inside, warming his feet at the fireside and making idle chatter with the barman. He waved Q over and there was a mug of ale in his hand and a huge sandwich on the low table before he had a chance to sit down. 

“Eat up hearty, sir,” the barman advised. The weather looks to be nasty before long.” 

The words proved more than true. They were only a third of the way home when a harsh, sleety rain began to fall. Tyler tucked himself deeper in his wool muffler and clicked his tongue at the horses to move them along. They didn't really need much urging. The poor beasts wanted out of this mess. Without gloves, Q tucked his hands as far under his arms as he could. They were still blue and stiff when they finally arrived, so numbed he almost fell off the seat when he was climbing down. 

He regained his footing, staggering back and came up against something solid. When he attempted to right himself, he realized it was Bond who must have just arrived himself. There was a low chuckle and then a hissed curse. “Bloody hell, where are your gloves?” He grasped Q's hands and, one at a time, stripped of his own heavy riding gloves and slid them over Q's fingers. 

“I have none,” Q responded rather weakly as he was drawn along to the back of the stable where there was an entrance that faced the door to the kitchen. He was hurried over to it as the rain turned to snow which quickly began covering the kitchen garden. Bond was yanking off Q's waterproof and the coat underneath and calling to the cook's assistant to bring a hot water bottle. When it appeared, Bond carefully slid his gloves off Q's hands and turned them over and back, examining them closely. He placed them on top of the towels wrapping the hot water bottle and sat himself down opposite. He would periodically lift and examine Q's hands, making approving noises as the color turned more pink and Q hissed in discomfort as the feeling rushed back. Bond scolded him when he tried to rub them together so he returned to sitting quietly as Bond shook his head. “Going out without gloves? Did you forget how quickly the weather turns here?”

Q hung his head. “I didn't forget them. I don't actually own any.” Bond bit his lip as though he was going to say something and had thought better of it. He simply picked up Q's hands one at a time and had him move the fingers gently. Bond's own hands were warm, calloused, blunt fingered, and Q had a sudden overwhelming desire to know what they would feel like on more intimate areas of his body. “They really do feel better now, thank you.” Q tried to pull his hands back and Bond held them a bit longer than might be strictly considered proper.

“You should consider having a nice hot bath,” Bond suggested, looking at Q's hands then up to his face. “It will get you warmer." Q could only agree as he was still shivering at intervals. He tried to tell himself it was the cold and not the close contact with Bond.

“I'll do that,” he agreed. He gently disengaged his hands. Bond let go with every sign of reluctance and Q made his way out of the kitchen and trudged up the stairs.


	16. Chapter 16

When Q returned to the kitchen with his pyjamas and dressing gown, the water for the tub was already heating but Bond was nowhere in sight. Q wasn't sure how he felt about that. He knelt by the tub, trailing his fingers in the water as it filled. He eventually rose and checked the latch before shedding his clothing. He usually avoided looking at himself. Now he did so deliberately wondering what Bond would think of his thin frame and winter pale skin. He remembered the feel of Bond's hands on his and ran his own hands down his body as he stepped into the tub. He soaked in the heat of the water and listened to the quiet noises of the house, at peace in the bubble of privacy the tub created. 

He felt warmed through when he finally climbed out, allowing the tub to drain. He dried his skin carefully, not wanting to risk another chill once he left the warmth of this place behind. He dressed in his pyjamas, warmed from lying on the hot water pipes, and sighed at the tiny luxury. The silk dressing gown went on top, his feet tucked into warm socks and the wool slippers. When he emerged, the kitchen was empty, the fire banked and the dough for tomorrow's bread left to rise on the counter. He had missed supper but decided he was not really hungry. He was almost to the stairs when he realized he had nothing to read. He had finished his book and had become used to the relaxation his reading provided. He left his clothes over the stair rail and diverted to the library. He would find something to catch his attention. He found the room lit by the fire glow and one lamp. He hunted through the shelves and settled on an adventure story, King Solomon's Mines. He read a few pages and decided an African adventure might be just the thing. He was about to douse the lamp and head upstairs when he realized he was not alone in the room. There was a figure in the deeply cushioned armchair drawn up in front of the fire. Of course it would be Bond. He seemed to be dozing, the half empty glass of scotch on the table offering a reason. 

“Commander?” Q said softly. When nothing happened, he risked a light touch to a shoulder. Blue eyes blinked open and a soft smile curved the usually stern mouth. One arm reached up and Q felt the fingers of the hand card through his hair. The hand urged him forward, not really pushing but definitely directing. 

“I wish you would call me James,” Bond whispered low and sweet. He brushed his mouth over Q's and Q was not strong enough to resist his own impulses. He leaned forward to deepen the kiss. To his pleasure, Bond seemed intent on just that for now, and he was a master of the art. He drew Q nearer, into his lap, the embrace firm but not restricting. His mouth tasted of the whisky and his lips were soft. Stubble scratched faintly against his own as Bond's mouth traveled to Q's ear. “I'm not wrong about this, am I? This is something you like?”

Q nodded and murmured an assent. “Please, James, more.” He allowed himself the pleasure of sliding his own mouth down to the intriguing triangle of skin at the open collar of Bond's shirt. He was aware of his own rising excitement, wriggling as Bond continued to kiss him everywhere he could reach. Their mouths together again, Q felt a strong hand slide down his body, brushing at his arousal. Bond smiled against his mouth as Q pressed into his hand. Q thought this was perfect, just this, kisses and pressure and the embrace that held him safe. And he did feel safe. And he would have laughed out loud if he could have spared a moment to do so from the exhilaration of Bond's kisses. He turned further so he was facing the man, straddling his lap so he could grip Bond's shoulders and thrust down and he was thrilled to feel the man's arousal pressing back. He moved more eagerly and felt the build of pressure and the frantic pace of his heart and Bond swallowed his cries as he peaked and then gave a low groan himself, reaching a hand down and rubbing himself through his trousers until he breathed out a moan against Q's collar bone and eased back in the chair.

It was several minutes before either stirred. Bond pressed a kiss to Q's temple. “Was that all right?” he asked.

Q was shocked at how good it was, good to share pleasure with someone again. “It was wonderful,” Q assured him. “I do think we need to move though. It might startle the maids if they were to find us here in the morning.” He carefully slid out of the chair, Bond letting his hands slide away and then rising himself. Q fumbled a bit with the dressing gown, making sure it hid the state of his pyjamas, and retrieved the book that had fallen next to the chair. 

Bond doused the lamp. “Would you stay with me tonight?” he asked, as they walked to the library door. 

Q almost said yes, before he remembered the state of his back. The scars would mean questions. And there was the chance Bond would want more than the simple sharing they had just done and Q was not at all sure he would ever be ready for more. “I think it best not right now, James,” he said as gently as he could. “You're very kind but I've never stayed with anyone after... well, I need to think a bit about it. Ask me again later, please. ”

Bond initially had seemed disappointed with the refusal but smiled at the last bit. “I'll make sure to do that, often. Provided you still agree to kissing me.”

They had reached the hall outside their respective doors. “I absolutely agree.” James leaned in for one more kiss before stepping away and inside his room, closing the door quietly. Q stood a moment before entering his own room. He hung his dressing gown up, did a sketchy clean up and pulled out the most recent pair of pyjamas that had appeared in his wardrobe. Moneypenny's house staff were rather like the shoemaker's elves in that odd items periodically turned up in his returned laundry. These were tartan. He had given up on trying to return any of the clothes. Moneypenny just smirked at him and waved his protests off and Tanner had advised him not to ever displease the housekeeper. Besides, the pyjamas were much warmer than anything else he had ever had to sleep in and he adored being warm.


	17. Chapter 17

Q was relieved to find nothing at all changed at breakfast. He received polite good mornings from everyone and had his tea and a plate of eggs on toast in front of him. There were no suggestive glances or brushing of hands. He tucked into his food with a will and had finished everything but his tea when Bond excused himself and left for the workroom. He was getting ready to leave and join him when Moneypenny reached across the table and deposited a pair of gloves next to his plate. He eyed the offering dubiously and she raised a finely arched eyebrow at him. 

“Wear them, please. I do not want to be treating you for chilblains.” She sipped from her coffee cup and Q dropped his gaze and gathered up the gloves. 

The weather was still hideous. Even with a warm coat and the gloves, Q felt the effects of the quick trip to the workroom. Fortunately it was already warming with the boiler on and Bond had acquired a kettle for the grate in the corner. They settled to work with very few words exchanged. Q was pleased that the previous evening had not altered the way they shared the tasks. He had several hot cups of tea pressed on him during the day and thought they were making good progress. They were departing for supper when Bond stepped up behind him before he opened the door. He nudged his nose into Q's hair and whispered, “May I come to your room after supper for a bit?”

Q hesitated then recalled the kisses and joy the previous evening. “For a little while, yes” he agreed. Bond kissed his ear and Q shivered from something other than the chill.

This formed the pattern for the next week. They would repair to Q's room after supper and sit before the fire, They would sip a bit of the excellent whisky or share some wine and pore over the plans for the projects Bond had in mind. Bond had even persuaded Q to change his suit coat for the dressing gown and remove his tie. They would exchange slow kisses and caresses that usually led to a feverish embrace and shared laughter afterward. Q was happy and was considering how best to manage staying the night with Bond. He was more and more eager to sleep the night with a lover, and wake up to another round of those wonderful kisses. He just had no idea how to hide or explain the scars. As it happened, fate gave him no chance to try a solution.


	18. Chapter 18

Bond had taken advantage of a break in the weather to pay a visit to an old friend and planned to stay the night. Q proceeded with the work in the morning and returned to the house a bit after midday to hunt up something to eat. The overhanging clouds promised more bad weather and the time of year meant dark would fall earlier. Finished with the bread and cheese, Q wandered up to the front hall. Tyler had been to the village and left the post on the table. Q picked up the packet and began to sort through it as he walked to the study. He was almost to the bottom when he saw the envelope. It was ivory with an ornate seal. He knew the handwriting and the seal. His stomach lurched and something bitter stung his throat. Cuthbridge had reached out and found him again. He had a frantic moment when he thought of just burning the letter but knew it wouldn't end anything. There would be more of them and, eventually, someone sent to the house. He remembered what Tyler had said, that people gossiped. He didn't want to consider bringing grief to this household, especially to Bond. Something inside him suddenly hurt so badly that he wondered if he might die of fright and grief. Fright at being found again and grief at leaving Bond. He loved the man although he might never find the courage to put it into words and he had a realization that he had to go right now. If Bond was here, his sharp eyes would see too much. Confusion and terror and love all pushed and pulled at him. He dropped the letter with the rest of the post and retreated to his room. 

His old carpetbag was where he had left it. He placed it on the bench and began to pack, only what he had arrived with. His books, the old clothes, his comb and razor. He counted his money, the few coins left from what Prescott had given him were stowed away carefully. The salary Bond had paid him was left on the nightstand. He donned his old suit and much patched boots and sat down to pen a note. He needed to make sure Bond knew not to follow. It took him a long time to put the words on paper. 

Dearest James,  
A letter came by post this afternoon. In it you will be told I am a criminal and not at all what you believe I am. I regret not telling you about this when I arrived but I needed work and a safe place so badly, I could not tell anyone. Cuthbridge is a man with powerful friends and will do as he says. I will not allow him to damage you or any of the friends I have made here. I have left everything I have been gifted with here as it seems like theft to take what was given me under false assumptions. You will find the salary paid me with this note. I did not earn it honestly and will not take it. Please do not try to follow me. Cuthbridge is a bad enemy. I hope you will forgive me for the abrupt departure. I have had a contented and safe life here at Skyfall and I will regret leaving it and you. Please know that it is only the threat to you that forces me to leave.   
Yours. Q

He folded the note carefully and placed the money on top of it, all weighted with the corner of the book he had been reading. He had determined to wait until the early morning, before the staff would be up. It would give him the most daylight for his flight. He had thought of asking Tyler to take him to the village but he knew the man would have to tell where he had gone. Best he set off on foot.

He estimated it was an hour before dawn when he slipped down the stairs and exited by the kitchen door. The sky was lowering but there was no rain or snow. His old clothes did not provide nearly the warmth he needed but he assured himself he would feel better if he walked briskly. The gravel and stone paths showed up well enough and he began to head down the drive. He passed the gate posts and glanced up at the bronze stags. He dashed away tears as he recalled all that had happened since the first time he had come past the guardians of Skyfall and squared his shoulders as he continued walking. He had made some progress down the road to the village when the rain started, mixed with ice that seemed to burrow under his skin. His feet felt clumsy and his hands were cold in his pockets. Although the sun must be up, it was hard to tell. The storm left the sky leaden. The distance began to seem insurmountable and, as much as he despaired, he did not want to die of the cold on this miserable road. He hadn't escaped that hell of an attic for this. 

An idea occurred. There was a place he could take refuge for a bit. The old chapel was never visited. He could make it back there and wait out the weather. The building would provide at least some shelter. Doggedly he turned and headed back along the road. By the time he reached the gateposts, they were shrouded in ice and his numbing feet slipped on the gravel. He almost dropped his bag and cursed as he fell trying to hold on to it. He had no way of guessing how long it took him to arrive at the place where the drive branched off to the path that passed the chapel. He found it by tripping over the marker stone. He pushed himself to his feet, gritting his teeth and leaning into the wind that now cut straight at him, leaving him almost blind as it deposited ice on his spectacles. He almost missed the building in the end. He had veered a bit off the path and came up hard against the corner of the fence that girdled the small graveyard. Sobbing in desperation, he followed the fence. The bulk of the stone chapel loomed abruptly as the wind died . Q hurried to the door as well as he was able, knowing the respite was only a few moments. The latch stuck and he pounded at it in desperation until it gave and he shoved the heavy door open. 

The interior was as bare as he remembered and shadowed. He used whatever energy he had left to push the door closed again, There was no wind here at least. He slumped against one of the pews, his carpetbag next to him. It was much nicer here than he had expected. It was warmer for one. He no longer shivered. He was happy about that. He didn't like that feeling at all. He stretched out under the pew and rested his head on his bag. He could afford a bit of a rest until the storm moved on.


	19. Chapter 19

It was so peaceful where he was. He felt like he was floating. It was warm and he was safe and everything was fine. Except it wasn't. Someone was shaking him and calling him. He tried to huddle back down into his bed but the surface under him was hard and someone was still shaking him. He opened his eyes and saw James, a bit blurry around the edges but with a tense and worried expression. Had he forgotten to do something? The blue eyes watching his face filled with tears and Q began to truly worry. He tried to speak but couldn't seem to find his voice. Strong arms lifted him and he tried to struggle. There was a reason James shouldn't be here but his mind was too slow right now. The soft voice hushed him and there was a weightless sensation and sudden blackness. 

He woke again, The world was moving. He felt a bit sick and tried to right himself but whatever held him was stronger than he was. He subsided and turned his head a bit and caught a scent of wet wool, leather and the slightly spicy scented soap he associated with James. There was an interval of movement and then a thud. He was laid down on something firm. Voices spoke over him.

“Oh dear heaven, he looks blue, poor thing.” That was the cook.

“You found him! Where was he?” That was Tanner.

“I've got the tank heating. Get those wet things off him.” Eve, always practical. “But best not dump him in there right away.”

“Get me a blanket and some hot tea, lots of sugar.” James speaking now. That was all right. Q felt his clothes being peeled away, one layer at a time. That wasn't all right. He struggled but his hands and feet didn't seem to move as he wanted. He finally turned his head and found his face buried in something warm that smelled like James. The last of his clothing was tugged off and he felt something heavy wrap around him. He drifted again. He knew there was trouble but he couldn't put his thoughts in order and he was suddenly shivering again and his hands and feet tingled painfully. That whimpering sound, he realized with horror, was his voice and he clenched his teeth but they chattered no matter what he did. 

It felt like forever until the shivering subsided enough for him to be at all aware. He was in the kitchen, the fire to the right and James was holding him. He was seated in Cook's chair and holding Q, wrapped in a heavy blanket on his lap. He knew the others had been there but he couldn't hear anything but the snap and sizzle of the fire and James crooning softly to him, telling him it was all right and he was safe. When he turned his head a bit, James tilted his chin up and kissed him softly. “Your mouth still feels cold. Will you drink some tea if I help you?”

He wanted to protest he could manage his own tea but he couldn't even seem to find his hands in the blankets. It was easier to just sip from the cup James held to his lips. It was too sweet but soothed his throat. He swallowed most of the cup with James coaxing him and rocking him like a child between sips. 

He heard footsteps and smelled the vanilla scent Moneypenny favored. “Do you need the tub filled yet?” she asked.

“I think so. He's still cold but his skin's not as pale.” Bond heaved to his feet and Q clung hard to his shoulders. The tub room was almost tropical to Q's senses. He was set down at the tub edge and Bond tested the water. He reached for the blanket and Q watched it slide away. Bond gripped his elbow and he stepped into the tub, hot water shocking him, and sat carefully. He sighed heavily. It all started to come back to him. All of his secrets were exposed now. Bond would see the scars, would have read the letter. He would know everything. Q wondered how long before he would be able to manage on his own so he could actually go. He might be able to ask Tyler to drive him to the village if he wasn't too disgusted with him. He curled in on himself in the tub, hiding his face in his knees. A gentle hand stroked his back, he shivered with something other than the cold. The next touch wasn't a hand. James was kissing him, down and across the tracery of scars that marred his skin, the constant reminder of pain and degradation. Tears he hadn't let fall at the time welled up and streaked his face and he tightened his arms around his knees to keep the sobs in. That might have worked except James had wrapped those gloriously strong arms around him and was pulling him gently back until he rested against the tub with his head on James' shoulder. And he cried as though he might never stop. Until his throat ached and he had no more tears. And the whole time, James just held him and whispered soothing nonsense to him. 

The water eventually began to cool. “Time to get up, darling.” James whispered endearment startled Q and he turned his head. Those blue eyes looked at him with an affection that struck straight to his heart. He knew he didn't deserve this. Still, he complied and stood, covering his groin with his hands and staring at his feet. James wrapped one towel around his shoulders and began to dry him with another, examining his toes with great care. When he had progressed to his hands, Q reluctantly allowed each one to be assessed the same way but the exposure was almost painful. James seemed to have no such qualms. He dried the rest of Q's body equally gently, and Q wished with everything in his heart that James had been the first person to touch him in those places. When James stood from the crouching position he had been in, he reached to the hooks on the back of the door and produced the purple dressing gown. Q obediently slipped his arms into the sleeves, not even scandalized at the idea of being naked beneath it. He tucked his feet into the slippers Bond placed in front of him and followed him out of the room. The kitchen was happily empty and they saw no one else as they walked through the house. He became confused when Bond ushered him into his own large bedroom but sat next to the fire as directed and drank more of the tea he was handed from a pot placed near the grate. He was left alone for a moment and Bond returned with the tartan pyjamas over his arm. He gestured at the washroom. “Go clean your teeth and put these on.” Q accepted the clothing, decided closing the door was pointless and did as told. He squinted at the mirror as he brushed his teeth. Bond appeared over his shoulder holding out his spectacles. The door to his side of the washroom was locked and he had left the key with the rest of the things he had abandoned so he wandered back into the warmth of Bond's room. Bond was wearing his own pyjamas, deep blue with white piping. He pulled back the covers on the huge four poster bed and Q found himself quickly tucked up under warmed sheets. Bond slid in on the other side, turned to face Q, and pulled gently until he had him settled against his chest. A kiss to Q's forehead and a soft whisper. “You're too exhausted now but we will talk tomorrow. You scared the hell out of me. Promise me now you won't do anything that foolish again.”

“I promise,” was all Q could say. He was sure he would have to find another way out but he couldn't do that right now. He wasn't aware of drifting off to sleep.


	20. Chapter 20

There was something odd about awakening. The bed was warm and cradled his body exactly the way he liked. The linens smelled of lavender and something else he didn't place immediately. But there was a sound of someone else breathing very close. Q tried to remain still and frantically searched his memory. “You're awake.” James' voice was quiet and very close. “You just tensed all over.” Q marginally relaxed. “It's early yet. Do you you want tea? I'll go get it.”

Q shook his head. “You found me,” he said, frowning. 

“Yes I did. And a right bloody fool thing you did. I thought you were dead when I first found you.” His arms tightened just a fraction. 

“But I had to go. You must have seen the letter...” Q began.

“You mean your note?” Bond asked puzzled.

“The letter. I left it on your desk.” Q started to explain.

“I didn't go in the study. I saw you weren't there when I checked the house. I finally got to your room and found your note. I didn't understand it at all and I didn't waste time looking for some other letter. Who is Cuthbridge anyway?”

Q sighed deeply and tried to sit up. Bond tugged him back, gently but leaving no doubt he wanted Q exactly where he was. “Cuthbridge is the man who kept me locked in a garret for three months while he used me for his lusts. He had seen me with an old friend and told me he would turn me into the police for gross indecency. The scars are from beatings. I managed to escape but he keeps finding me and has sent letters to everyone who has employed or helped me.”

“How long?” Bond asked.

“Almost three years now. The letter will tell you I'm a sodomite and a violent thief. I had to take clothes from his servant's discards to escape. That was after I pushed him away while he was drunk and he hit his head. He had a cane in his hand and intended to beat me again.” Once started, Q found it harder to stop than to go on. “Tyler mentioned that people already gossip about you. It will be worse if Cuthbridge thinks you're defying him. So I decided to leave. I didn't want you to suffer for my past.”

Bond lay still for a bit. Then he took a deep breath. “You're a bloody idiot if you think I'll allow you to suffer for that bastard's crimes. You came here to be safe and that's what you are. You are safe in my house and my employ and you are safe in my bed if you wish to be. Am I clear?”

Q looked up in sudden alarm. “You can't fight him. He has friends. His father-in-law's nobility. He has influence.”

Bond looked at him and gave a grim smile. “I have friends as well. Very loyal old friends. And I'll make a wager. His so called friends are more hangers on looking for favors. And I would also bet the father-in-law will not be pleased if he finds himself connected to scandal.”

Q raised a skeptical brow. “What exactly do you have in mind?”

Bond pressed his lips to Q's forehead and then to his mouth, soft and undemanding. “First, I'm going to read that letter he sent. We'll have breakfast and I may ask one of those old friends to come for a short visit.” He settled deeper into the warmth of the bed taking Q with him. “For now it's too early to get up.” And that was apparently that.


	21. Chapter 21

When the clock on the mantel chimed six, Bond slid out of the bed while Q remained, reluctant to face the rest of the household. He huddled there with his head half hidden under the edge of the pillow until Bond had dressed and stepped next door, using the key he had retrieved from Q's room to open the washroom door. Bond peeled back the covers. “You know you can't stay here forever. Go get dressed and we'll get breakfast. You'll think better for some food.” 

Q eventually dragged himself off to the washroom. Bond hurried downstairs and retrieved the neglected post from his desk, the letter from Cuthbridge on top. He scanned and put aside the rest of the items, opening the envelope. The paper was expensive, heavy and tinted ivory. The words were written with a heavy hand, ink forming blotches in a few spots. It gave the impression of someone angry and unused to having his plans blocked. There was an assumption that his word would be immediately accepted. Bond folded the page in quick sharp movements and tucked it away in his pocket. A moment later Q emerged from the washroom and they walked silently to breakfast. 

Having expected awkwardness, Q was pleasantly surprised. Tanner handed him a plate of the drop scones he had enjoyed on his first morning here, accompanied by several large rashers of bacon. Moneypenny pointed a serving fork at him. “If you ever make such a prat of yourself again, I will skewer you with the nearest sharp object.” She mitigated the effect of the threat by passing over the teapot and patting his face.

Bond called one of the maids over and gave her a quiet order. She hurried away and returned shortly with Tyler trailing behind her. She curtsied and headed back to the kitchen and Tyler came to stand next to Bond's chair, in a pose that might have been called attention if he still wore a uniform. 

“Tyler, I need you to run an errand for me. Take the gig and make a run over to the Lodge and ask Mr. Mallory if his father is feeling well enough to spare him for a bit. If he says yes, bring him back here, please.” Bond poured more coffee as Tyler turned and hurried out, presumably to the stables. 

“You're bringing in Mallory?” Tanner asked, sounding as if he were choking on his coffee.

“You calling in that favor he owes you?” asked Moneypenny with every appearance of casual curiosity.

Q just shook his head. “Who's Mallory?”

“Mallory was one of the embassy staff in Shanghai. He annoyed a competitor of mine,” Moneypenny offered. “They decided to take their missing profits out of his hide.”

Bond nodded and continued. “They had him for several weeks before we had a whisper of where he was and our Moneypenny offered a trade for him claiming her own desire to revenge her losses on him. She made sure I knew about it through unofficial channels. When they showed up for the exchange, I had two gunships waiting. He was rather grateful and was happy to overlook Miss Moneypenny's prior history when she elected to retire. Mallory has been rising in the government and may be able to assist us.”

Moneypenny, snorted inelegantly. “He probably be a right prig about it too.”

“Ease off, Eve. You know he could have been a lot more difficult,” Tanner offered.

“In any event,” Bond overrode them, “Mallory has connections and owes me a favor which I intend to call in. We'll have a conference in the study when he arrives and make some plans.”


	22. Chapter 22

Tyler must have been sufficiently persuasive. He came back with the gig some three hours later with Mr. Mallory sitting next to him, stone faced and steely eyed. He stepped inside the front door, slapping his gloves against his thigh and pulling off his scarf. Bond handed him a glass of the good whisky and ushered him into the study where the fire was warming the air and the others were sitting, Q visibly fretting, twisting his fingers and trying to sink into the chair he occupied.

“I hope your father is improving,” Bond said affably.

Mallory sipped from his glass, nodded in appreciation and said, “My father is gouty and ill-tempered. His condition is chronic and hardly likely to be fatal. I needed a bit of time away from London anyway.” He made note of everyone in the room, nodding to Moneypenny and Tanner as old acquaintances. He studied Q for a moment and brought his attention back to his host. “Well. You asked me to come. Care to enlighten me as to the reason?” He settled in the chair nearest the fire and stretched his legs out. 

Bond took a seat opposite and gestured at Q. “My new employee, Mr. Shepherd, has a very nasty enemy. I would like a bit of assistance in convincing him to abandon his vendetta.”

“What's the man's name?” Mallory asked, helping himself to another small measure from the decanter.

“Cuthbridge,” Bond replied. “He's been harassing Mr. Shepherd for three years.”

Mallory made a disgusted noise. “Cuthbridge. Odious piece of work. He tried to bully his way into a ministry job based on his wife's father being a baronet. His own father made his money as a smuggler although nothing was ever proven.”

Bond pulled the letter out of his pocket and glanced at Q who gave him a wide eyed nod. “This is a letter from Cuthbridge. Previous employers of Mr. Shepherd have received similar messages over the past few years. He has been hounded from one job to another. Unlike his previous employers, I do not give in to blackmail or unfounded accusations.”

Mallory accepted the letter and read it through, his mouth twisting in disapproval. “I'm somehow not surprised. There have been rumors about Cuthbridge using personal missteps as leverage against his business rivals. The question is can he prove anything of what he says here?.”

Q shocked himself by speaking up. “Mister Mallory, I was abducted and abused by Cuthbridge. He kept me a prisoner for three months and I escaped by sheer luck and I had to take some discarded clothes from the attics to do so. He has money and influence and convinced me I would never be believed and, up to now, he has made that the truth, his truth. Mr. Bond and his friends believe me and want to help me and said you might be able to do something. As to proof, I have none but neither does he. His word is not proof and neither are bought witnesses.”

Mallory nodded his head. “Have you thought of just suing him for slander?” he asked.

Bond interrupted. “You know the likelihood of that outcome with the kind of barristers he could hire and the number of judges who are friends of his father-in-law. I wouldn't have asked you here if I hadn't already thought of and dismissed that plan.”

Mallory steepled his fingers and stared at the fire. “Cuthbridge has pending government contracts that are in my purview to grant or withhold. He's overextended himself financially, according to the sources I have. He needs those contracts or his creditors will be calling in the notes they hold. What do you think would happen if I informed him he was not getting any of the contracts because the government does not wish to associate with kidnappers or blackmailers and I waved this note in his face?”

Q shuddered. “He has a horrible temper. All it would take is a hint that I had said something and he'd come here.”

Mallory nodded. “Be sure you want that. He's never done something his family or money couldn't cover up but the stories are bad enough. There's a rumor he killed a groom when one of his horses didn't run well and lost him a bet. The body was never found.” 

Q felt Bond's gaze and the question. He could stay here and Bond would ignore or fend off any rumors. But he would never be free of the past that way. He wouldn't feel safe leaving Skyfall. And what if his inaction let Cuthbridge do this again? “Mr. Mallory, I would appreciate it if you would do exactly that. Cuthbridge cannot be allowed to win.”

Mallory gave a slow salute with his glass. “Mr. Shepherd, you have backbone. I wish you luck.” He toasted and then rose to his feet. “If we are doing this I need to get back to London and arrange things. I'll send a wire when it's done. Keep a rider at the village to get the message. 

Q raised his own glass. “Please, call me Q.”


	23. Chapter 23

Mallory departed and Tanner spoke up in the silence that followed. “We need to make plans. He likely won't come alone. His sort don't like to fight their own battles. We may have a war on our hands.”

“Yes,” Eve joined in. “But we have the advantage of knowing the ground and I think we can prepare a very effective welcome.” Her smile was wide and pleasant, until you recalled her history and realized that she had killed and probably had no problem doing so again.

Bond toyed with his empty glass and looked at Q. “Are you all right knowing you're the bait in the trap?”

Q reflected a moment. “It's not as if I have much of a choice. Either we lure him in and he's caught in the act of doing something illegal, something he can't evade, or I keep looking over my shoulder.”

“Or even better,” Eve said cheerily, “he may have a horrible accident.”

Bond's grim smile was an affirmation that a potentially fatal accident might be a serious possibility. 

Since Q was not versed in weapons at all, he elected to keep working on the boiler and the attached hose for directing the heated water. It kept his mind and hands occupied while the others assessed the available methods of defending the house. The heavy storm shutters protected the gound floor windows and were quickly put in place by the staff. Bond opened the gun case and distributed weapons, mostly shotguns. It appeared a large percentage of them knew how to shoot. Q watched them fire some practice rounds from the workroom door. Moneypenny produced a rifle, a brace of pistols and an exotic blade she called a dadao. She brought them to the workroom and sat with Q while she sharpened and polished the weapon and then proceeded to behead the hedges in a series of dancer's moves that Q had difficulty following. Bond prowled the house and grounds, keen eyes noting areas that were more difficult to defend and correcting what he could, making sure heavy furniture obstructed avenues that might be used against them. 

Bond vetoed any discussion at supper of the defenses, insisting they needed a relaxed meal but afterward he took Q to the study. “I need to make sure you stay safe if this becomes a real battle.” He manipulated something and a section of panelled wall swung out revealing a low opening that disappeared into the earth. Bond picked a lantern off a peg on the wall and lit it with the matches on a small shelf under it. He beckoned and crouched down to enter the passage, Q following after. “It was designed as a priest hole,” Bond called back. He finally straightened when the passage way ceiling rose. “They connected it to some old mine tunnels. If things become too risky, follow this to the end. See the marks? It comes out under a small cairn on the hillside overlooking the chapel.”

Q nodded agreement and, when they returned to the study, made sure he could manage the mechanism that opened the hidden door. When he was sure he could work it properly every time, Bond turned him around and caught him against the panel, hands braced on either side of his face. Q wasn't waiting. He closed the distance, bringing his hands up to Bond's face, kissing him sweet and slow and delighting when the big body shifted closer, hands remaining on the wall. “Would you stay with me tonight?” James asked, his voice intimate, the question one Q had grown used to hearing. This time he had a different answer. 

“I would like that very much, James.” Bond's face lit up in a smile that warmed Q through. He grasped Q's hands and kissed them before leading him up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

The maids had tidied the room and the fire was already lit. Bond stripped off his jacket and tie and Q felt confident enough to do the same, blushing a bit when he saw he was being watched. Placing his glasses on the mantle, he hesitantly raised his hands to his shirt buttons but Bond stepped closer and touched the backs of his hands gently. “May I?” he asked, his voice a whisper against Q's ear. 

Q nodded and looked down for a moment as Bond's capable hands began carefully unfastening the small buttons on Q's shirt. The fingers unaccountably seemed to tremble a bit. Q looked at James' face and the rapt expression in the blue eyes as he slowly separated the panels of crisp linen and pushed the shirt off Q's shoulders. He dropped the shirt on the chair next to the fire and looked up at Q's eyes, seeking approval for the next step. Q guided his hands back to the vest and Bond stole a kiss as he gripped the bottom edge and tugged it free of Q's trousers. He broke the kiss for a moment as he pulled the garment over Q's head returning to the kiss immediately and then trailing his lips down Q's neck, whisper soft and raising gooseflesh. Q gripped the broad shoulders for balance and sighed in pleasure as the kisses traced his collarbones. Bond brought his hands to rest at Q's waist, fingers flexing and leaving tingling flesh where they touched. A wet touch on a nipple and Q gasped and, when James tried to pull away, gripped his head and pulled forward, determined to repeat and deepen the pleasure. James hummed and sucked carefully and Q felt any restraint evaporating. 

“Your mouth, dear God, James! Please don't stop,” Q managed to get out between moans and gasps. He was hard and wanted more of these touches that were driving him higher with every passing second. He was nudged backward and his knees touched the mattress. He eased back and looked up, James just close enough for him to see the man shed his own shirt, vest and trousers, shoes kicked away carelessly. He reached for the fastenings of Q's trousers, again seeking permission. Q looked down the length of his body and nodded, mouth dry and tongue licking at his lips. James dropped his head, planting delicate kisses along the skin above the waist of Q's trousers, carefully sliding the buttons free and nuzzling into the gap created. Q felt the press of the sinfully wet mouth against his cock through the thin cotton of his drawers and then he was bare and James was tossing the rest of the clothing aside. He hadn't really taken time to consider how it might feel with both of them naked. James was lovely in the way a marble statue might be but so much more than that because he was real and here and he was just as aroused as Q was. He knelt at the edge of the bed and held Q's knees and kissed along the inside of his thighs, a slow painstaking progression from the knee upward until his nose brushed the underside of Q's erection and he switched to a press of tongue up the shaft. Q was losing his mind. He had imagined this but that had been a pale miserly excuse for the brilliant pleasure that sparked his nerves now. He writhed against the hold, trying not to thrust up. James responded with a low chuckle and increased his efforts, sliding his open mouth over the head of Q's cock, looking up at him with those teasing blue eyes and then sliding down with painful slowness until he reached the base then an equally slow glide up, repeated until Q flopped his head back on the mattress and shouted incoherently, demanding more to assuage the building pressure. He thrust up, terrified he might choke the man but James rode the movement and increased his efforts. He added to the sensations, cradling and rolling Q's sack with a delicate pressure that forced a high pitched whimpering cry and Q couldn't hold back. He thrust up again and felt the weight of James's body holding him safe as his pleasure poured out of him. 

Q managed to get his breathing under control as Bond slid up his body, kissing any area that took his fancy, his own considerable erection bumping insistently at Q as he did so. He managed to get them both lined up, Bond lying on his side. He kissed Q's mouth, the taste sharply flavored and Q flushed hotly realizing the taste was his. He found himself urged to his side as well and felt a sudden panic and stiffened. James sucked his neck and nibbled it lightly, ticklish and distracting. “Hush, just relax.” A long arm reached across the bed and a familiar looking pottery tub landed on the duvet. James scooped out a bit and Q felt the cool salve on the inside of his thighs. Sudden awareness and he raised one knee a bit as James fit in behind him, his prick sliding over the slickness and caught in a firm grip when Q closed his thighs tightly. “See, nice and easy,” James murmured and continued with the slow thrusts and random kisses and nibbles at Q's neck. This was pleasure in the moment and pleasure he remembered. With every movement and in every moment he was regaining something stolen from him and it felt better than anything he could have imagined. James didn't take long to come. Just soft huff of breath against Q's neck and heat flooding his thighs and they both slid into relaxation. 

There might be all sorts of trouble in the immediate future but this was his again. Q would not give that up ever. He grabbed for James and shoved at him and tugged at the blankets. He reached over the side of the bed and grabbed a random garment, his drawers he thought, and wiped them both as clean as he could, and then, satisfied with James' position in the middle of the bed, draped himself over the man and yanked the covers up with finality. 

James voice was a low purr. “I take it you're satisfied?”

Q fumbled around and grabbed one of the man's broad hands, drawing it to his hip and planting it there. He huffed and gave one more wriggle. “Absolutely satisfied.” He smiled as he drifted off to sleep,


	24. Chapter 24

No one commented the next morning when Q settled at the breakfast table wearing the phoenix dressing gown. Moneypenny passed him the sugar and Tanner asked if he wanted to read his newspaper as he had finished with it. Bond arrived a bit later and said nothing although he took a careful look before seating himself. The meal passed quietly and Eve announced she was going to the village with Tyler and one of the grooms. “Matthew's brother works in the livery and his wife is expecting. It will look natural enough for Matthew to spend a day or so there helping out. Tyler and I will drop a word in a few ears to be aware of outsiders asking questions.” She walked past Q and patted his shoulder and went to change. The village wasn't quite ready to see her dressed in her padded silk jacket and trousers. Tanner expressed a wish to go for a walk and make sure the safe going markers were all in place. What he didn't say was that the places would be shifted to put them next to the bogs that dotted the terrain to the left of the gates.

Bond leaned over as they were left alone at the table. “That does make your eyes look greener. As far as I'm concerned you can wear that all day.”

Q pursed his lips and gave Bond a very serious look over the top of his spectacles. “I can hardly work like this. You'll just have to wait to see me in it again this evening.”

“Rather see you out of it,” Bond confided in a friendly leer.

Q swatted him with the newspaper. “Limits, Commander. I prefer our private activities remain private.”

“Then we had better get dressed before I decide to scandalize the maids.” 

They elected to do so separately and met in the workshop afterward, easily maintaining the customary balance between them in the familiar setting. Moneypenny and Tyler returned in the afternoon, with the assurance that their friends in the village would be keeping a weather eye for any strangers and telling Matthew. She passed James a small package which he quickly tucked in a desk drawer. 

Supper was a lovely stew with dumplings. Q had a weakness for dumplings and Cook made amazing fluffy ones. She never allowed anyone to help her make them and this led people to wonder if she might use magic to get the right texture. Q ate several more than he probably should have and felt sluggishly tired afterward. He dozed in the armchair in the study, hearing the conversation between Bond, Moneypenny and Tanner as a low background, like rain against a window. He was awakened fully when James touched his arm gently. The fire was burning low and the mantel clock revealed the late hour. “Come with me, Q.” Still half sleepy and confused, Q followed James out of the room and to the kitchen. The room was deserted but the door to the room with the tub was open and the water heater was chugging cheerfully. 

He followed agreeably as he was tugged inside and the door closed and latched. James began filling the tub and turned to Q who felt the need to make at least a small protest “I can bathe myself you know.”

“I never thought you couldn't,” James responded “I rather fancied the idea of sharing.” As he spoke he was pulling his boots off and quickly unfastening cuffs. Q frowned a moment and decided that there was no reason not to go along and sluggishly followed Bond's example, folding the collection of clothes together and noting Bond had hung their dressing gowns over the hot water pipes and placed an opened bottle of wine near the tub, two glasses standing near it. Bond stepped in and held a hand out. Q stepped in as well and found the tub did accommodate both of them as he sat down, back to Bond's chest and was handed a glass of wine. He gradually felt his body get heavier, a combination of a heavy meal, the wine and the hot water. This was more luxury than he could ever remember imagining. He giggled a little and got a tickling gust of breath under his ear. “Something amusing?” James asked. He followed the question with a kiss. 

Q sipped a little more of the wine. “Not amusing precisely. Just not likely I would ever have thought of being here, having someone doing this for me.”

“It's a pleasure for me as well,” Bond replied with another nibble, this time at Q's shoulder. Q stretched his neck back and kissed the side of James' jaw, sloppy and uncoordinated. 

They lazed until the water cooled. Bond nudged at Q's shoulder and plucked the wine glass away before it could fall. He felt decidedly unsteady but didn't really mind. He was bundled into the purple silk which really felt amazing on his otherwise naked body. That made him giggle. Bond smiled fondly at him as he tied the sash. “Time for bed, love.”

He managed to make it up the stairs, Bond keeping a close watch behind him. Once in the bedroom, he shrugged out of the robe, hunted for his pyjamas and gave up after Bond plucked his glasses off and kissed him. Pyjamas were overrated. He'd be quite warm enough next to James. The man was like a stove. He tumbled into the bed, curled up in the middle and felt the heavy body settle behind and around him, safe.


	25. Chapter 25

“What did we do last night?” Q asked, not opening his eyes yet. 

James stretched a bit, pulling his arm out from under Q's back where it had gone slightly pins and needles. “We had a very nice bath and drank some wine.”

“Did I parade through the house naked?” Q asked in a horrigfied whisper.

“You were not naked. You were wearing your dressing gown and there was no one to see you but me. And I very much enjoyed the sight.” Bond pushed the blankets off. “Time for breakfast.” Q pulled him close and kissed him but gave in to the imperative of the usual morning routine.

They were both in the workroom after breakfast when Tyler hurried in unannounced, followed by a muddied figure barely recognizable as Matthew. “I brought a wire, sir. I galloped most of the way.”

Bond nodded. “Go to the kitchen and get something hot to eat. Tyler, make sure the horse is tended to and make sure the rest of the stable is secure.” He opened the flimsy envelope and scanned the message. “It's from Mallory,” he confirmed. “Cuthbridge is on the way. Mallory says his men saw him board the train headed north. He has at least eight men with him. Mallory put a man on the train to watch them. He's supposed to wire us when the group leaves Glasgow. They'll have to hire horses or a coach.” Bond tapped the edge of the paper. “I'll send Matthew back when he's had a chance to rest then we wait. The wire will give us time to be ready.”

“How long?” Q asked.

“That depends on how easy it is for him to get transportation in Glasgow. Is Cuthbridge likely to ride or use a carriage?” Bond leaned against the table, putting a hand out to touch the hunting rifle he had polished and left loaded and to hand.

Q thought of the the overindulged figure of his tormenter. “A carriage. He might send some men ahead on horseback but he would want comfort.”

Bond took a moment, calculating in his head. “He wasn't on the express and finding a carriage in Glasgow and enough horses for hire may take a bit of time. Add in the conditions of the roads and I'd guess he couldn't get here much before tomorrow morning. If he's letting his anger rule things, he won't want any more delays.”

“You're hoping for that,” Q observed. “That he'll act without thinking.”

Bond nodded. “His anger may become our best weapon. Anger won't let him think clearly.”

Q considered the temperamental outbursts that he had been witness to and victim of. “Yes. He wouldn't even believe anyone would try to stop him anyway.”

They worked a bit longer but the tension wore on both of them. At supper, they told Cook to make sure the maids and she slept in the basement for safety. Afterward, they made sure the downstairs shutters were secured and Tanner and Moneypenny went upstairs, watching the windows overlooking the drive in shifts. Bond and Q settled in the study with only the light of the fire. Waiting was much harder than Q had expected. His fingers tapped erratically on the chair arm and he got up from his chair at intervals to walk around the hallways, returning to the study as if Bond was his North Star. Bond moved little, except to shift his view from one set of windows to the other, peering through the small gap in the shutters and moving the rifle with him so it was always close.

Q was starting to doze in the chair, the early hour finally catching up with him. Bond moved sharply, standing straighter and walking cat footed to the hall and calling up the stairs. “Look sharp,” he called. Hearing a soft response from Tanner, he came back to the study, Q watching him, nerves vibrating. “Two men on horses just at the gate,” Bond said succinctly. 

Q stepped up to the window, watching as the scene appeared and disappeared. Scudding banks of clouds periodically obscured the light of a gibbous moon, creating a view where the horsemen seemed to be advancing by magical jumps during the periods of darkness. As the two men approached the house and nothing happened, one of them made a waving gesture and a coach and three more horses passed the gate. The coach horses looked lathered as if they had been pushed a bit too hard. The men all dismounted and the coach door opened. The man who emerged was wrapped in a heavy coat and strode up to the entrance, his men following. He pointed to the door and said something that wasn't audible. One of the men produced a crowbar and attacked the door latch. The door heaved inward and shots rang out from the top of the stairs, Tanner and Moneypenny using surprise to their advantage. One of the men dropped in the doorway and the others elected to back away and the heavy report of Bond's rifle sounded as a second figure collapsed. The group, including the man who had to be Cuthbribge, took cover behind the coach. The moon disappeared again and their view likewise vanished. Bond muttered a curse and Q realized that the men might do anything under cover of darkness. The obscurity lasted a long time, and when the moonlight returned, the coach stood, with the horses tethered to it and no sign of the intruders. Bond whirled away from the window, calling to Tanner and Moneypenny to check the kitchen while he checked the side yard. 

“Stay here,” he directed Q as he left, pointing at the hidden door. Q nodded and went to the windows. He was shocked when Cuthbridge emerged from behind the coach, trailed by one of his men. They approached the front door, lanterns in hand to light their way. The sounds of shooting echoed from the rear of the building. They must have been confident in their diversion. Cuthbridge fixed his gaze on the window and Q watched his evil face crease in a smile of demonic delight. Q felt the fear rise up and grab at his throat, knowing Cuthbridge had seen him. He scrambled for the bolt hole and fumbled with the lantern. He knew he had taken too long to move when pounding sounded behind him, Cuthbridge's enraged shrieking at being deprived of his prey. They would figure out the latch or just break the door down. Q scrambled down the narrow passages, desperate to get away. The heavy tread of his pursuers echoed, making it difficult to determine how much time he had. The dusty floor sloped upward abruptly and the air became colder. Q scrambled up and out, looking down on the bulk of the chapel. He knew the lantern was going to give him away. He shuttered it and veered back toward the house. He tried to recall where the dangerous spots were. He was halfway to his goal when he mistepped and soaked one trouser leg to the knee in slushy bog water. He struggled out and continued, breath harsh in his lungs and panic prickling up his spine. 

The building looming in front of him was the workshop. He struggled to the door and shoved it open. He leaned against it and listened to the pounding of his heart and the shots telling him his friends were still fighting for him. He needed to do the same. The boiler squatted in the center and his mind raced. Steam and the newly completed hose to direct it. Grimacing, he began to fire the boiler, pushing the capacity to bring it to full pressure as quickly as possible. He had very little time before Cuthbridge saw or heard what was happening and he needed to be ready. Q pulled on the heavy gloves he had used to handle the heated elements and aimed the hose at the door, hand on the valve that would exhaust steam out the hose fitting. He listened to the hissing of his mechanical dragon and closed his eyes and waited. It took a bit but the door rattled briefly. A moment later there was a crash and one of the unknown men stood at the door. Cuthbridge shoved past with an impatient gesture, eyes scanning the room and lighting on Q. 

“Waiting for me, little whore?” He advanced and pointed his walking stick at Q. “You've caused me a great deal of trouble. I think it only fair I do the same. If you come along quietly, I'll just leave your new friends be.” 

The implied threat galvanized Q. He rose to his knees, tightening his grip. “You'll never lay another hand on me,” he grated out. He twisted the handle sharply and the jet of steam caught Cuthbridge square in his leering face. There was an inhuman squeal of pain and Cuthbridge fell back, ungloved hands trying to protect his face and scalding in turn. The man behind him was knocked back and fled when he saw what was happening, dropping his weapon in the desire to flee. Q followed as far as the hose would let him, continuing to rain hell on his tormenter as long as he could. Cuthbridge staggered away, blindly wavering off the path with his hands out. Q, still breathing as if he had run miles watched as Bond, Tanner and Moneypenny ran up, Q opened his lantern and lighted the ones in the workroom. As they watched, Cuthbridge slipped, a gurgling scream choked off as the bog swallowed him. Q carefully replaced the hose and began powering down the boiler. A few residual splashes marked a weakening struggle but no one made a move toward the sounds and they eventually ceased.

Bond sat down next to the workbench, allowing Q to continue what he was doing. Tanner spoke up. “Moneypenny and I will get the rest sorted.” 

Moneypenny grinned. “It's a pity they wandered into the middle of a shooting party. Terrible accident.”

Q kept his eyes on his work. “Did any of them survive?”

“One,” Moneypenny replied. “I wondered if you had seen him before.” She was toying with the Chinese blade she seemed fond of.

Tyler was behind the door and dragged the man along, one leg bleeding from a wound that didn't look like a bullet injury. Q took one look and shuddered, recognizing the footman who was Cuthbridges's loyal man, the one who had laughed at Q as he held him still for Cuthbridge to assault. The man glared back and spat. “Pity he didn't beat you to death, little whore.” Bond watched Q's face for a moment then gestured Tyler to follow him outside. There was a single shot and silence. 

Bond returned alone, asking Tanner and Moneypenny to let Cook know it was safe to come out and asking Tyler to tend to the horses and carriage. The animals would have to be fed and rested before returning them to their owner. “And Tyler, put the bodies behind the stable and cover them. Head to the village and if anyone saw them coming through, bring the constable. If not, just come back here.”


	26. Chapter 26

The rest of the day was a confusing mix of the ordinary and the horrifying. Before Tyler returned, Cook had breakfast served and the front door was repaired. The shutters were taken down and returned to storage. The floors were swept and scrubbed and everything in the house appeared normal. Q had not felt hungry but, at Bond's urging, ate a bowl of excellent porridge and finished his entire pot of tea. Oddly, he felt nothing but relief. Cuthbridge was gone. He couldn't quite fathom that.

Tyler came back mid morning. The barman he was friends with had bemoaned how slow business was with the winter setting in and no travel on the road. Bond ordered the bodies buried in the back of the graveyard which was largely hidden from the drive by the stone of the chapel. That was done with little difficulty. 

Mallory showed up midday. He sat down in the study without invitation and accepted the coffee Bond handed him. “Cuthbridge's father-in-law is taking his daughter and grandson to the continent. The old man has placed notices that he is not responsible for his son-in-law's debts. The properties Cuthbridge actually owned have already been seized. I heard a rumor two young men were found chained naked in his attic. Scotland Yard is looking for him but believe he has fled the country. Some of Cuthbridge's associates are already giving evidence about his other activities, likely hoping we don't look too closely at them.” He finished the coffee and rose. “As I am sure Cuthbridge will never make more trouble, may I wish you good day. I plan to visit my father and return to London.” He shook both their hands and departed.

Q pottered over diagrams for the rest of the afternoon, losing himself in his work as he had often done. Bond distracted him with a hand on the back of his neck. “Supper,” he reminded him. Q managed a smile and followed. He ate enough to satisfy Bond's scrutiny and made casual conversation. 

After supper, he retreated to his room. He sat in his shirtsleeves, remembering the details of the moments in the work room. A soft knock at the connecting door roused him from thought. “It isn't locked,” he called.

As expected, it was Bond. “Will you stay?” The question posed hesitantly.

Q frowned and rose to approach. “You want me to sleep in there tonight? I'd like that.”

Bond swallowed hard. “No, I meant, will you stay, now that you don't have to worry about him anymore?”

Q puzzled that one for a bit. Truthfully, he could go back to his academic pursuits. It might take him some time to catch up but he could do it. But the point of his career had been to apply his knowledge to things that helped people. He was doing that here. And if he went back, he would have to leave Skyfall and Bond behind. And that was not what he wanted. He had tried to leave once and had felt as if he were dying when he had to leave that note. Life was not about going back to what he had before. It was about moving ahead to his future. Bond was that future. Q got a firm grip on Bond's shoulders and kissed him with every bit of emotion welling up in him and Bond rocked back a moment before wrapping his arms around Q and returning the kiss. “I'm staying right here.” Q promised. Safe with you.”

“In that case, perhaps you might accept this. An early Christmas gift.” Bond reached in his pocket and passed him the small parcel he had put away in his desk earlier. Q carefully removed the wrapping and uncovered a padded box that opened to reveal a small pocket watch and chain. He held it up to the light and looked at Bond. “This is lovely. Thank you.”

“Open it.” Bond urged. “I had it engraved.”

Q did as asked and held the cover to the light. A graceful image of a phoenix was inscribed on the inside cover and the fob at the end of the chain was a small round shape with a stylized script initial 'Q'. 

Q did the only thing that made sense in the face of this wordless statement. He pulled Bond into his arms and kissed him, laying the watch gently on the table where their embrace was reflected in the glinting figure of the phoenix.


End file.
